


Riven Soulfire

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Cursebreaker Saga [7]
Category: DemonWars Saga - R. A. Salvatore, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Multi-User Dungeon
Genre: Babies, Demons, Drow, Gen, Magic, Original Universe, Shapeshifting, Torture, War, creepy children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-05-29
Updated: 2003-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riven will lead the drow to victory, regardless of the foes he must face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction of Riven Soulfire

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this story were derived from roleplay logs. It was co-written by Arilyn, who played Riven. Unfortunately, parts of it are also missing.

Amongst the scorched and molten earth of Mezulbryst live many creatures. Following the Planar Wars, the drow and duergar were joined by goblins, orcs, trolls, and ogres as inhabitants of the plane. Entire cities had disappeared to Chaos during the Wars, been sent to completely other worlds or simply lost. Portals had been destroyed. One of the portals, the one to the Abyss, had been transformed, expanded, and horribly altered to such a point that the entrance to the Abyss sat on the floor of the Plane itself, and not through a portal to another place. The Plane of Shadows, even after the Greater Elkandu had woven it back from Chaos, was still a place of terrible war and destruction.

The drow, though they had settlements on other Planes, lived comfortably on Mezulbryst, for it was a dark world, and they could live within it freely. There was no sun to torment the dark elves, only four moons, and even the light of four full moons - though rarely did that happen - could not completely blind the drow with pain. The dark elves were intolerant of light, and though on other worlds they were driven underground or restricted to the night, this world gave them an advantage. Even foul demons could not see in dark so well as they could.

Their race dwindled, however. Far too many years ago - proceeding even the Planar Wars by far - they had been doomed to this. They had been Cursed, though none now knew why, Cursed that no drow woman could bear more than one child during her life. Cursed also that they could not tolerate light. Even magical means could not slow their decline. Should they even force their women to bear only female children - and they could not - their population could still not possibly increase, and the war the wracked the world after the great Planar Wars was causing a further decrease in the drow population.

In the simple interest of self-preservation, they did try to augment the Curse by killing newborn male children, in hopes that their mothers could bear another. This was a false assumption, and hundreds of drow died as a result to no purpose. They were able to increase the amount of women born through magical means, but this was not always successful, and they still faced a future of decline. Cross-breeding with elves or other races, too, did not always work. Half-drow women often still couldn't bear multiple children.

Occasionally, they would capture young human or elven women and use the drowrings on them, but that had its down problems. A drowring was an enchanted object of changing, and worked slowly, but would transform these women to their own race. Such women were bitter, and though they would bear drow children that would then be brought up following drow traditions, it was not always effective. For the women captured, revenge often became a lifelong obsession.

To maintain the race as much as possible, some breeding was also selective. This wasn't widely accepted - race preservation wasn't worth wasting your own life for, they felt - but there were many children of such unions. Males were used solely as breeding stock in some places. Many children would be sired by the same father - but by different women, always, of course. These men were sometimes exceptionally strong, or unusually intelligent, but occasionally, a drow man willing to spread his seed happened to be a mage. After the Planar Wars, there was much fear of mages, but the prospect being able to use one...

* * *

Light exploded in the center of the market square.

Human eyes were blinded by the brilliance of it. Dark elven eyes were blinded, as well; the light also caused them to cry out in pain. Some of them were completely paralyzed by it. Everyone closed their eyes, and many turned away. Unnatural light as great as the sun's on a world that had never had such natural brightness was a cruel shock, a weapon.

The sound of solid wind ripped through the air. It made contact with the figure in the center of the sunfire. The magical light was cut off instantly as the gnomish Illusionist collapsed to the ground, rendered unconscious by little more than air. Gnomes traded their creative wares often in the drow settlement of Ameliel, but those who were still in the square backed off quickly, not wanting this pinned on them. Dark elves were known for their short tempers, and many would be willing to take out their indignation at this against anyone who could be conveniently blamed.

Tashir bent down and offered Riven a hand up, where he had collapsed. Riven took it gratefully and rose up. The two looked at the prone gnome. Guards were already moving to cart him away for questioning; he wasn't dead, merely knocked out. While other people rushed to flee the square, the two drow boys lingered briefly. The light still burned an afterimage in their minds, blurring out everything else for a moment. Tashir was completely recovered while Riven was still stumbling, because he'd had most of the light hidden by Riven's body. Riven still felt numbed; he was the taller, and hadn't had another body shield the light's blast for him. He'd collapsed when the light had completely paralyzed him.

Once they were both able, they left the square in a rush. Most of the rest of the people had left already. The two hurried away, lest another attack come. Such things were frequent, and this was the second time they'd been caught in one. Once, while waiting in line to buy food for their mothers, three water devils had emerged from one of the few ornamental fountains in the city. They had ripped apart a dozen people before the boys had been able to make their way out of the rampaging crowd, and run back to their home. A full thirty people had been killed before the demons had been taken down, twenty-two of them drow, and three of them young girls. The loss of those girls grated worse than the other twenty-seven.

Riven and Tashir Stygian were brothers. Not in the regular sense, as they were sired by the same father, but had different mothers. They were old enough to know the sobering truth why. They lived together, with their mothers, in a small single-level house in Ameliel. Riven's mother was Liymin; Tashir's was Dalone. Their father had disappeared shortly after their conception, though he reappeared occasionally. It didn't matter to them much; they depended upon each other, they always had, but not upon other people. They were rather intimidated by him, really. Their father was a mage.

Their father, Manifel Ebonstaff, had last visited more than a year ago. He'd seemed very tired, and angry, but not at them. Their mothers had been uneasy about his return; Riven's treated him like a stranger, but Tashir's had dealt with him like a snake: a necessary evil to kill rats, but still none too pleasant. He'd brought a few things with him. There were gifts: a gold necklace for Tashir's mother, and a linked silver bracelet for Riven's, which both only wore whilst in his presence, fearing them tainted with magic. He only gave them out of courtesy; they only accepted them for the same reason. He also brought food, which was often in short supply in the city, but which a man of his resources was able to acquire.

To his sons, he gifted a matching pair of belt knives; they were forged of a dark metal, with no trace of luster, and etched in drowish script. Gifts from afar, he told them, from the drow in other places. His other gift was a counter to it; he had also brought them advice. He told them to never use them, to run first, and only draw them if there was no way to stay away from danger. They weren't a useless gift; they were a lesson in self-preservation. The boys always carried them, but no brave notions entered their heads. Had they tried to fight the water demons with them, they would have died.

They boys finally stopped, and fell in another line for bread. The bread commonly sold in Ameliel was flat and dry, because fresher bread would be rendered too dry to be edible by the hot air in Ameliel. It was relatively cheap, when they could acquire some. It grated that they'd been so close to an opportunity in the other square before the illusionist came. Tashir nudged Riven, who turned to look at him.

"You've already done it once today," he thought. "Surely you wouldn't mind."

Riven shook his head, thought better of it, and stepped out of the line to confront a limping male drow who'd already made his purchase. "Hello there," he said. The man greeted him suspiciously, clutching the bread a bit closer. "Do you live far?" he asked compassionately. "Walking looks to be a bit uncomfortable for you."

"What's it to you?" the drow asked gruffly. "Don't you be pestering men who gave their mobility in the service of preserving your life."

"Of course not," Riven said smoothly, following the man as he walked. "I know a little bit about healing, though. Surely you don't like walking so awkwardly. It must hurt your back something awful. I could take a look at it. Perhaps even heal it, for a portion of your supper."

The man looked at him with a little less scorn. "I live close to here. If you can help me, I'll give you the food, boy. If you're just some fool child with some elaborate scheme, though, as I said, I was in the army." He gave Riven an unpleasant grin, showing several missing teeth.

Tashir slipped out of the line and walked quietly behind the two, following them to the man's house.

They went inside. "Lie down, please," Riven commanded the nameless man. Abandoning his supper to rest on the table beside him, the man did as he was asked. "How did you get this?" Riven queried.

"Arrow in the knee," the man muttered, shifting to find a comfortable position.

Riven nodded absently. "Fortunate. No, no - not really, calm down," he said, when the man began to get up, outraged as his use of 'fortunate'. "It could have been an enchanted demon blade," he explained. The man nodded, understanding, and relaxed. "How long ago was it?"

"Some eight years," The man said.

"Long ago healed, then," muttered Riven. He could imagine the incident in his mind, to the very angle the arrow entered at. He could sense the scars. "This will likely be painful, but it should be effective. I'm going to need to put you... into an enchanted sleep," he explained hesitantly.

The man, having already gone this far, agreed to having this done. "I'd rather not feel pain if not needed," he said. A person capable of stealing his consciousness could just as easily steal his supper, so he figured that this boy might indeed be willing to help him.

Tashir had come in without the man noticing, and now stood guard at the entryway to the room. Riven closed his eyes and prepared to heal the man. The wound, though old, would still heal. It was minor, too, just in a vital spot, and hadn't entirely healed, because it was always in use. Riven closed his eyes and drew energy away from the man, weakening his mind and body, filling him with fatigue. With his mind susceptible, Riven was easily able to lull him to sleep.

For the first time, he touched the knee. Fresh cuts, he felt. The metal hadn't been dislodged entirely. He'd been lying when he promised the man pain, but it seemed he'd have to do it anyway. With the knife at his belt, he dug at the man's flesh, dug until he uncovered the bit of metal remaining. This, he was able to extract carefully without touching it, merely by willing it to exit the man's wound.

The actual healing was easier to do, but took a lot more focus. Riven fed back in the energy he'd taken from the man to have him sleep, and had to draw more. The wound slowly knit from the inside, until the skin covering it was flawlessly restored. The man would indeed walk again.

Riven withdrew his power and wavered slightly on his knees, using the bed for support as he stood. Tashir looked over at him. "Twenty minutes," he said without being asked. "We would have been an hour in line or more."

Riven grabbed the bread. "And a slip of tebrite saved. He'll be out a while; I'd not bother to wait until he comes to. Find anything else interesting while I was busy?"

"Bit of food, no quantities worth taking," Tashir reported. "A bit of tebrite, but not much." He held up a few strips. "He shouldn't miss this much."

"Leave the food you found," Riven said, "he'll need it to recover. Good work." He grinned. Three strips of tebrite was a fine bounty, and still less than that healing was worth to the man.

Tashir didn't bother asking why they wouldn't murder the man and take it all. As good an idea as it was, this man was part of the army which protected all drow from the demons and other nasties which sought to destroy them. Neither of them wanted to hurt the army's chances, because occurrences like the one that day with the gnomish illusionist would become more frequent. Neither of them wanted to live under such oppression.

They left the house by the back way and sped towards home with their bounty of bread, but Tashir pocketed the tebrite. Mages, they knew, weren't really that bad; Riven had inherited the ability to channel from their father, having learned to use it about nine months prior, and his healing wasn't at all so horrible as people said mage powers were. Perhaps it was just because this power was wielded in their service instead of against them. It hardly seemed the thing to destroy worlds.

Healing injured drow was a benevolent thing to be able to do. It was their duty. It would become their life.

* * *

"War!" came the cry from a child running down the street. "War! Demons attacking from the north! War spelled out in fire in the sky! War!" The boy's yelling faded as continued running, still yelling.

"Unreliable humans," muttered Liymin. They were all five there at the table: Riven, Liymin, Tashir, Dalone, and Manifel. Manifel had been home for two weeks consecutively. He'd been edgy the entire time, and only slept for brief stretches; even then, he only slept when one of his sons was watching over him. Now, however, they were all eating together, if uneasily.

Manifel put his head to his hand, as if in pain, then shook it. "Truth," he muttered. "Demons are attacking the northern front... fire does spell war in the sky." He shook his head again, looking rather angry. "I have to go," he said abruptly, and stood up to leave the table. He went towards his room to get his belongings. His sons followed him.

They stood in the doorway as he collected his possessions and put them in a bag. "Boys, I'm sorry," he said. "I've been waiting for this since I got here. They're coming... I need to go." They just stood there. "I have to protect the city," he explained further, and picked up his staff.

"We'll help," Riven said quietly, knowing that Tashir agreed with him. Neither of them moved from the doorway, effectively blocking the exit.

"Drow don't make good infantry against elemental demons," Manifel told them. "Boys, I need to get there as soon as possible, the front is no place for untrained children." He raised his arms when they didn't move. "I'll force you out of my way if I must." Few would deny a mage's request when he made himself ready to make good on a threat, but they continued to stand there.

Not wanting to really hurt his own sons - his contribution to the drow future - Manifel closed his eyes tightly and conjured a ball of bright light. Even though his closed eyelids, it weakened him; something so close would probably render the boys unconscious. It weakened him more than usual, however; he wavered on his feet, then fell to his knees. The ball of light flickered, and disappeared, as it became too difficult to sustain.

On his knees, without enough strength to stand and barely enough to speak, he realized what was happening, and said weakly, "I didn't know. Come, come. Damnit, just stop it, you can come." His strength returned slowly, and he stood up again. He couldn't tell which one of them had done it. Despite his annoyance, he was pleased that at least one of his children was Talented.

They all gathered their belongings and headed outside. Liymin and Dalone waited by the door. Neither of them looked willing to do anything to stop them, but they certainly didn't seem happy. Manifel drew a brick of tebrite from his bag - a small fortune. He placed it on the table as he headed for the door. He didn't say a word as he left; neither did the boys. It was money enough for the women to live comfortably without the boys as a source of income.

That's how the boys left their mothers: without a word, or even a look. They left the women they'd lived with for most of twenty years for the father they'd only known for a grand total of six weeks. They headed north, towards the army, towards their front. Manifel didn't speak to them, still mulling over the idea of at least one of them truly being able to channel; they didn't speak, because they were somewhat afraid.

War. Not just a handful of demons come to murder them, but the entire Abyss coming to exterminate them. Terrible demons, each taller than any drow, many with command of the elements. This was more than they'd ever done before, but it was exciting, and it was new.

After a while of walking, as they were nearing the outskirts of the city, Manifel finally spoke. "The front is several miles north of the city. We try to keep it from being in the path of any stray fireballs or similar," he said grimly. "Basic training is all they'll have time to give anyone before they send you up. The army is run by our kind, however; they'll give you a bit more of an advantage."

He stopped walking and turned around to look at them. "I make one assumption in bringing you here," he said, looking a bit uncertain for the first time. "I assume you can both channel." They didn't answer. He sighed. "If I didn't let one of you come, I suppose neither would." He paused; they didn't say anything. "Very well," he said, and continued on.

It took them about two hours to reach the edge of the army encampment, where there were sentries posted. Manifel conjured a small, dim light for them - courteously harmless, yet effective - to prove his identity, and they allowed him to pass. The boys followed closely after him. He brought them to a grimy looking tent, larger than the others, and they followed him in.

It was rather plain inside, with just one desk and two chairs, one in front and one behind. The one behind it was occupied by a drow man looking over a large record book. He raised his head as they entered. "Manifel," he said glumly, "you heard. But why come here? You know where you're assigned." Then he saw the two boys. "Recruits?" he queried hopefully.

Manifel nodded, and left the tent, without a further word. His place was at the front lines; it was a fair lot of good to vouch for a few boys, while others were dying that he could help defend.

The drow man peered at the boys for a long time before seeming to approve. "You'll do well enough," he said gruffly. "I'll take you to the barracks." He stood up and left the tent; they had no choice but to follow him. After five minutes of walking - the encampment was rater large - he left them in another tent. "Wait here, and they will train you. You are now members of the Ameliel garrison."


	2. The Demon Wars

Basic training took barely a week, such was the drow army's need to have troops ready for battle. They learned to fight with swords and bows, but they knew little besides the very basics of it. Riven and Tashir had been assigned to a unit with two dozen other men and women - the one woman who was drow was at least forty, and safe to send to war - and were about to go to the front. They had assembled, all in uniform and armed, to meet their unit leader.

Coming towards them were two officers: the man who had trained the new recruits, and the man they presumed to be their leader. As he came closer, Tashir groaned mentally. Riven privately agreed. They stood beside each other in the line, near the end, but both of them knew who this person was. Walking towards them, without a trace of limp, was one of the people they'd robbed several years earlier while Riven was still discovering and developing his Talents.

He gave a brief and thoughtful speech on the topic of war as he walked down the line, examining his soldiers. He told some to tidy their hair, another to tuck in their shirt, another to shine his shoes. When he came across Riven, he just stared long and hard for a moment before passing, without comment. Tashir, whom he'd never actually seen, he grumbled at to straighten his sword belt.

The unit marched north, then, towards the front, where they would be fighting. Bodies were needed to fight the demons so desperately that this was all the training that the drow army had time to administer. Just over two dozen drow in a line of thousands, going to attack an entire abyss of demons; it was suicide. Most of them knew it. If they didn't stop the demons, however, their entire race would die out, at least on this world. None of their individual lives was worth losing that.

Their unit leader, Sanon, drew Riven aside as the group was assembling their equipment. "I remember," he said simply. So he did; Riven had hoped, at least, that he did not. In the midst of everything else, and knowing that this man's experience and wisdom was all that was going to keep them alive, he didn't dare to change it.

"It worked though," Riven muttered. If the man was going to kill him for it now, preventing it would mean exile at best. "You walk fine."

"I don't intend to hurt you, since it worked so well," Sanon said, giving Riven the same gap-toothed grin that he had five years prior. "I didn't expect to find a healer with a sword. Quite a jolt, to see that waste of talent. Quite."

Riven grinned, seeing that he wasn't about to be killed for his foolishness years ago. "I know the importance of keeping our men alive, sir," he said dutifully. "I'll fight to keep each sword from slicing at them, and when they do, I'll heal as best I can. A trained man kept alive is more convenient that a new man come fresh from camp, I'm sure."

"So it is," said Sanon. "So it is. Mind you keep yourself out of harm's way, though, boy. A healer or a sword-swinger, you're no good to anyone dead." It was as close to affection that Riven felt he was ever going to get from the man, and he appreciated it. They left the tent together to prepare for an attack.

Nothing came. There had been reports of demons approaching the border, but there were no cries of battle along the lines. They waited, tense, for the oncoming battle. Many wore dark glasses to shield their eyes from any extremely intense light. Riven, who had manage to convince a more experienced soldier to give him his, put his own on. Nothing continued to happen.

Flame suddenly erupted from three of his comrades, and their bodies melted away. The glasses shielded most of the brightness from the fire; it was an annoyance, but not the same as a strong white light was. Bright fires lit up the eyes of his drow partners, but he saw them not with his eyes, but with his mind. He could sense the difference in their souls. Those men had been possessed by demons.

* * *

_In this missing section, this battle is finished. After it, and another similar one, Riven is discovered to be able to use magic. So is Tashin. They are summoned to the tents of high-ranking officials to explain it._

* * *

Riven cautiously entered the room as he had been summoned. The guards on either side of him guided him to a chair, where he sat facing six others arranged in a semicircle before him. It was certainly an interrogation chamber; light shone from above at him, making it hard to see, and rather unnerving him, without touching the people arranged before him. They did not seek to speak with him on equal terms.

"Necromancy," one of the ones in the center hissed. "Control of souls, the ability to revive the dead, vile tainted healing." It sounded like a list of charges.

Any moment, Riven knew, they would proclaim the one that would seal his fate: they would associate these all with 'demon-magic'. Well, he would not stay here and let them kill him. His mind was reverting to something more typical of dark elves: self-preservation. He could use his power to incapacitate at least a few of them, and run for it.

The next question unnerved him, though, as he didn't expect it. "Have you been hiding any other powers from us?" another man asked, purely curious.

Riven didn't dare answer. His other known Talent for telepathy would, beyond any doubt, label him as a user of demonic powers. It would take very little time for them to conclude that he must die - or worse.

"Have you been hiding any other powers from us?" the man demanded again, angrily.

One of the guards jostled Riven's shoulder, and he felt a smooth blade being pressed against his throat. He could take care of the guard, but he'd have to be quick - but then there was the other guard, and the six men before him. Answering kept him a little further away from a dishonorable death.

"Telepathy," he muttered quickly.

One of the men began to speak in outrage, but another person had a more reasonable suggestion. "Prove it," a decidedly female voice commanded. "We can handle him if he misbehaves," she assured the others.

They could handle him. They must be able to channel, too. There was no way he was going to survive the night if he didn't at least follow their orders. He would, after all, be a fool to deny a mage their wish, when they made it clear they intended to make good on their threat. The blade was still at his throat.

He wasn't nearly as well practiced as telepathy as he was at healing. He hadn't had any opportunity to hone it. It took too much time. If he used it on the guard, the shock of a foreign entity penetrating his mind might jolt him, and force the knife. Perhaps there was another way through this.

Riven gave the half-dozen before him an evil grin. "Which one of you volunteers yourself as a subject of my proof, then?" They leaned back in their chairs uncertainly. None of them answered. No one would want to consent to having him control them in demonstration."

Finally, the woman who had made the demand of him answered. "Me," she said. "But," she warned, "do more than is absolutely necessary and these gentlemen will kill you."

"I could merely force you to say I'd withdrawn from your mind, and they wouldn't know to," Riven countered.

"Ah, but they could sense you channeling, I'm sure," she replied.

Riven closed his eyes in concentration, but still replied. "Or I could make them think that they didn't sense my channeling, so they couldn't detect me doing it to them, either, and then what would you have?"

"The guards would murder you when you were stretched so thin," the woman said comfortably, laughing.

"With no signal from you?" Riven asked.

"It remains to be seen whether you can indeed channel," she said.

"Does it?" Riven queried, opening his eyes and grinning.

"I solemnly believe that this wonderfully handsome and well-mannered drow gentleman is able to use the power of telepathy," the woman said. Then she frowned.

Riven laughed delightedly. "What'll have you up at night, though," he said, sounding thoroughly pleased, "is wondering whether I forced those words into your mouth, or just gave you the idea and had you express it as you felt."

* * *

_In this intervening space, much takes place. Riven is promoted to Captain automatically for his ability to channel -- as is his brother Tashin, who can use the rock-related powers of Earth magic to great effect in battle._

_After being gifted with a magic staff which emits heat with no light and is used to rally drow troops, Riven leads several battles. In one, which seems hopeless, two demon commanders descend before him -- and don't hurt him. They seem to recognize him, or respect him, and call their army off._

_This, coupled with the news that Manifel has deserted their side, lands Riven in prison. Tashir comes to break him out. They link their magic abilities together, only for Riven to realize that Tashir was convinced by the army officials to consent to it so that they could draw both brothers into a magic link to cast a powerful spell._

_They cast a spell meant to start a great plague to wipe out the demons. It backfires. Many of the officers who cast it died before Riven could turn back its progress on the Ameliel side. He again earned his freedom, and the rank of General._

_Ameliel is attacked by a great force of demons, and all looks hopeless once more_.

* * *

Ameliel was in shambles. Most of the inhabitants -- well, those who could -- had fled to Asinos. There were precious few left in Ameliel. Riven had been trapped there in the final hours, holding back the demons. Many had fled. Most of the ones who left near the end wouldn't make it. He could see lightning flicker in the sky, coming closer, as the enemies approached.

They had been driven into the center of the city. He was with a few hundred soldiers who had stood by him, and a few hundred civilians who knelt praying, or ran around in a frenzy. Riven patrolled the lines of soldiers numbly, unwilling to leave without taking as many of the demon bastards down with him as possible. He'd lost his staff in the countless battles preceeding this, and now carried only a sword. The end was coming.

Tashir had been leading one of the other divisions, guarding one of the many groups of citizens. Riven prayed for him silently, hoping that his brother's group had survived. There was little hope that any of them had, but few were more resourceful than Tashir in his estimation.

Prayer. Checking the lines, Riven came across a group of civilians kneeling in prayer. There was a great crowd of them, such that he could barely get past. They were surrounding a shrine to the great magess Keolah. Not a goddess; merely a mage, Riven knew. One to whom they all owed some gratitude, though at this point he could barely remember why. Nothing but divine intervention could possibly save them, he knew.

"Get up," he said roughly to those on the outer rim of the kneeling drow, "I need to get through. You should be fighting to live. Go on, let me through." Slowly, he made progress towards the inside, still spreading his message that they should be standing with weapons in hand, not kneeling to be slaughtered. He worked his way up to the actual shrine, the statue of the great elf, in the center -- and felt something.

Something was out of place, almost like a buzzing in his ear, some minor resonance. Magic. There was magic in this place. He shooed the people out, searching for it. Nothing but magic could possibly save them, anyway. Even an enchanted knife would be useful, or a tool to throw flame, anything. He worked his fingers around the shrine, along the ground, knowing that something had to be there.

He couldn't sense anything with his own magic -- he was no Seeker, for sure -- but he tried anyway, seeing if there was some extra mind or soul in the room, something that would respond to his own magic. The response when he channeled into the statue against the far wall was completely unexpected.

The floor shuddered, then slid away under the candle-adorned shrine. He jumped back in surprise. Once it had stopped moving and settled, he saw that a set of twisting stairs led down into a basement. And down at the bottom -- it had to be -- he saw something glowing. He saw light flooding in from an unexpected source, but it didn't matter at this point. He rushed halfway down to make sure. There was nothing else it could be.

Excitedly, he yelled up at the doorway. "Come here!" he cried. "Everyone, everyone, come quick, I've found your salvation!" He rushed up the stairs and ran out, rushing up the line. "Come to the shrine, come, everyone, hope lies below!" He was the victor of a dozen campaigns. Furthermore, he was a wielder of unnatural powers. The drow broke rank and followed him.

Riven led them, a great line of hundreds of drow and a few stragglers of other races, down the twisted stairway, to the portal. He had no idea where it went, but any place -- a place that obviously wasn't Mezulbryst, to judge by the light -- was safer than an Ameliel that was rapidly being consumed by an army of demons.

He rushed them through, yelling at the hesitant ones that the pain of day was less than that of the fires of the abyss. They continued in. He knew the line continued outside; he knew some would be caught. He knew the demons would follow them here. He no longer cared.

The last finally went through, and Riven paused before following them. To what horrible death might be be leading them? He channeled again, above, to the statue. The floor, his roof, slid shut.

They would follow. They would find this. Until then, safety awaited him in the blinding light on the other side. He put on his dark glasses, and followed his people through.

* * *

Night finally, eventually, came. They emerged from the chamber -- a twin of the one they'd left -- as dusk came. Above was a similar shrine. Most of the drow dispersed to the city. They didn't depend on Riven for support; he didn't offer them any. They were no longer his obligation. They were safe.

He was just tired, having guarded the portal all through the day, uncomfortable from the daylight drifting in from above. No demons had come through yet. By the time he finally left the temple, the authorities had been altered, and a few guards had been posted at the entrance. Though stunned, no one seemed to be about to stop the Ameliel refugees from staying. They were already dispersing, with their meager savings from their old life, to reestablish a home here, for they knew Ameliel was no longer safe. This was another city that housed drow.

Riven stumbled along the streets in a daze, a few of his lieutenants following after him. He knew he would have to return to the war. He couldn't abandon his brother to the horrors the demons subjected their enemy leaders to. He couldn't surrender everyone to what what to come. To hell with self-preservation; if everything he'd known his whole life was to disappear in the span of one night, he'd be lost. He'd be damned.

Across the city -- Kelletirandia, someone had said -- he found another temple. It was smaller. He wouldn't have known it was one of Keolah's, the statue figure looked so different, but it was an elven woman. The words on the plate at the base confirmed it for him. The drow here worshipped her, too.

Abandoned and alone, the drow of Mezulbryst were going to die out completely. The ones here seemed far too few. Even in a war to preserve life, he had accomplished nothing but more bloodshed. It seemed so futile. Was his life for nothing?

He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. Two of his men stood guard on the entrance; not to stop worshippers, only to stop any people who wished their general harm. The sanctity of the place was calming. Riven inhaled deeply. He couldn't only care for himself; on a world where he knew nothing, owned nothing, and where his power was likely illegal, he had nothing. He abandoned himself to prayer.

He opened himself up, fully, and extended his mind and soul to the graven image before him, and to the mind and soul he knew it represented. He extended himself through these channels, and he poured out his concerns.

"The drow are failing," he prayed in his mind. "Demons attack, tearing away body and soul. Light attacks those who survive elsewhere. We dwindle." He paused. He had to believe. He had to know. "Great Keolah, I send my prayer, my wish, to you, that you might hear and believe. Help my people as you did before. I know you did."

He took a deep breath, using what strength he had left in his magic to try to make himself heard. "Protect us as your children, as you once did." Once more, one more plea to try and gain her blessing. Simplicity. "Please help us."

In the dark silence of the Wilderplane night, he waited.

* * *

After a long time on his knees, he finally got up. "Damnit, far lot of good that was," he muttered bitterly, drawing his power back into himself, no longer willing to extend it in such a vulnerable way for a false hope. "Bloody lies."

He left the small temple, his guards falling in step behind him. He walked slowly, worriedly. How could he ever get back to his home? Tashir surely needed his help. Riven couldn't dare use the same portal to get back, though -- by now, Ameliel was a city of the demons.

One of his soldiers, one left behind at the central temple, was running down the street like a man posessed. He skidded to a halt and gave his general a hasty salute, which was returned in kind by a very confused Riven. "Sir," he said breathlessly, "the demons. They--"

Tense, Riven drew out his sword.

"No, sir," the soldier said, gasping for breath, "The can't get through!"

Riven frowned. "Show me," he ordered simply, following the man back to the temple. This world was safe, at least, and the drow he'd brought through as well, but that sounded odd to him. The six men trotted down the street towards the center of the city, until they finally came upon the temple.

The crowd parted as he made his way through. The entire basement had been cleared out except for about forty of Riven's soldiers, who stood around the perimeter. The soldier rushed ahead, showing Riven to the portal. His four lieutenants spread out behind him. What he saw through the clear portal was astonishing.

Eight demons paced on the other side of it, glaring through at the drow. They had stopped trying to go through, one of the soldiers told him. It was like an invisible barrier had been thrown up. Riven just stared through the portal, stunned.

He glanced back up at the sanctuary above, then gazed through the portal again.

Riven snapped his fingers and pointed at the portal. The soldiers behind him rushed through; the portal offered no resistance to the drow. Within minutes, the other side was clear, with no casualties to the drow. Riven continued to stare in numb disbelief before following through to the Mezulbryst side.

Reports came down to him almost instantly. No demons were being sighted in the sky, and no sign of any approaching on foot. It was as if they'd all but vanished.

He wandered back up the stairs to the Ameliel temple. A day before, his home city had been almost completely destroyed. He'd thought all its inhabitants hunted down and killed. Now, by the Kelletirandian night, there was hope.

Riven took a seat on the floor of the Ameliel temple, thinking. After consulting with the man briefly, and giving him half-answers, his captain sent out messengers to find the fleeing citizens, and to contact the rest of the army. Riven had his own way to get a quicker answer.

Though the distance was great, Riven had had a special bond with Tashir for years, which they'd use often to communicate without speaking. There were many minds for him to skim across such distance, for him to find a specific one, but if there was any he could find at such a distance, it would be his brother's. After a few minutes of searching, Riven found it.

They couldn't communicate verbally over so great a gap, but Riven could sense jubilation. Victory. There was something to celebrate, somewhere. The drow must be alive. The army must have survived. That could only mean that something had stalled the demons.

After hours of just sitting there, staring at the shrine, preliminary remports come back. The demons seemed to have just... vanished. A few were sighted, but travelling in groups of two or three, and staying clear of the drow. They were reported as seeming confused.

Riven steepled his fingers and rested his chin upon them. He was too shocked to sleep, too numb to do anything but sit there, thinking. "Did no one ever try prayer?" he thought to himself. But they had. He had seen them. Somehow, his had been different.

He didn't know if it would work again -- had no idea if he could muster the strength -- but he reached out again in the same way to Keolah, soul and mind. It didn't matter if this one worked, but courtesy cost nothing, and it would be nice if she did hear. "Thank you," he whispered, gazing at the stature, and "thank you," his mind echoed, trying to be heard by the benevolent magess.

The word was spread, by the officers present at his soulsent prayer, by the guards who watched him pray in thanks, that General Riven Soulfire had prayed to the great goddess Keolah, and by his prayer she had answered, and delivered the drow from a fate of fiery death and destruction. It was further thought that the General must have some divine connection, or if not something so grand, that he had at least saved the Ameliel drow.


	3. Interlude

"General Riven," one of his men said by way of waking him, "A messenger has come."

"Hardly that," Riven muttered, sitting up too quickly and invoking a headache, which he annoyedly supressed. He'd been having a restless sleep, some horrible dream he couldn't quite remember. "They can wait, I said. I've been up all bloody ni--"

He saw the tall nightmare outside, and stopped muttering. Nightmares were demon-horses, powerful, fast, perfect for use in war, but damned near impossible to tame, and reserved only for the highest ranking of officers.

Riven just belted on his sword, and picked up a dark staff someone had found for him during his rest, before going out to greet the officer. What he saw made him grin.

Tashir dismounted his nightmare and saluted Riven. He didn't bother to wait for it to be returned, though; he gave Riven an identical grin and just shood his head in disbelief. "I heard what they say happened," Tashir said. "Is it true?" Riven knew to what he referred, but he motioned his brother inside before they spoke.

He had made the temple his temporary headquarters. He'd slept at the base of the shrine, not having the strength to go anywhere else. He indicated to the guards that they should stay outside. The ones below, guarding the portal, wouldn't be able to hear him anyway. "I'm dead on my feet, Tashir," he muttered, "and probably couldn't channel a spark to save my life. But I'll answer you." The very idea of trying to work magic again made his stomach churn.

Riven paused. "I know what happened, and by whose means, but can't possibly imagine why," he said finally. He opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it, shaking his head. "Can it wait until I'm rested?" he asked. "It'd be easier to explain if I could show you some of it."

Tashir nodded, accepting it. Some things were hard to put to words. Some things just weren't meant to be overheard. He moved to his own news. "We were being chased by demons. Fierce-like. Hundreds of them, flanking us as we ran. It was horrible. I couldn't even... I hadn't the strength to anymore." Tashir shuddered and closed his eyes.

"Maybe forty minutes before you made contact with me, they all just... vanished. Completely, unexpectedly. No one could explain it. They thought it must be the divine will of some higher being." Tashir stared at Riven pointedly, still wanting some sort of answer. "The people here say the same thing."

Sensing that his brother still wasn't going to tell him, Tashin broke into other news. "Great General Soulfire, it does indeed seem that you are the one of the highest ranking survivors of these recent battles," he said, grinning. "General Alorys is back with most of my troops, she felt we needed a messenger who could ride. They're coming, you know," he added. "Coming back home. It's closer than Asinos, after all."

Riven sighed with relief. "Survivors?"

"Most of them," Tashir replied. "Though hurt..."

"I'll deal with them," Riven muttered.

"No, most of them are hurt," Tashir told him.

"If it was serious they'd be dead already. If they're not and it is, I'll deal with them."

Tashir shivered, feeling the anger in his brother's voice. "Those deaths were not your fault," he began.

"I know," Riven said simply.

They sat there in silence. After a while, simply exhausted, Riven lay down and went back to sleep. Tashir wouldn't think it inconsiderate; he would understand. And with a true friend to guard his back, Riven could sleep more comfortably.

* * *

Some eight hours later, he finally woke up by his own accord. Tashir was still there, sitting at Riven's head, so that he could see both the shrine and the doorway while having his back to the wall. Riven could hope for no abler man to guard his back; few of his own soldiers had the same knack for strategy as his brother, and none of them that he knew of could channel.

Riven still lay there, but he formed a weak mental link with his brother to explain what he'd done in the last few days. He showed him the discovery of the portal, their salvation, and then his despair as he realized the demons would hunt them through it. He showed his prayer.

At that point, he just stopped, waiting for Tashir to absorb it all, waiting for some response. His brother replied softly along the link. "So it was you," he thought, seeming shocked. "You didn't do it, but you got her to... how? My men were praying, I saw so many of them do it. Why did it work just as you sent it?"

Riven couldn't answer. He conveyed that to his brother: he had no answer. "How many of the men know? I didn't realize... I was too shocked to know they'd seen me praying. I didn't know they'd connected the two." His thoughts were confused, and mildly concerned.

Tashir, with some effort, sent across his own memory as he rode into the city: a group of soldiers saluting him as he galloped past on his nightmare, shouting a few praises to him as Captain Tashir Stygian, but mostly to him as the brother of Riven Soulfire, holy General of Keolah, who called upon her to smite the demons.

Riven had to laugh outright at that, but didn't say or think any message. He was grinning for a while afterward, trying not to laugh at the thought of it. "Hardly that," he thought. "Hardly that."

Tashir leaned over him and said quietly, "Your men think you a hero, General."

Riven just grinned. "And you, Captain?"

"I can't call upon the heavens for aid," Tashir replied with a grin.

Riven shook his head as he sat up, a motion which thoroughly confused him to a point where he had to lean against the platform for support. He broke off the mental link with his brother, no longer needing it. Tashir nodded as he felt it. They both looked to the doorway.

"Well?" Tashir asked finally.

"My prayer didn't ask for salvation from Nero," Riven said. "I suppose that without the demons to draw away his attention, we'll hear from him soon enough." Riven sighed.

Tashir frowned. "Couldn't you try again--?"

"With what pressing need?" Riven cut him off. "I'm not one to pester and annoy someone capable of... I mean, there's enough drow following the man. I can't plea for help for our race under those conditions." He shook his head. "It wouldn't work. I truly don't think it would."

"Nero," Tashir muttered. "That's a man I don't trust. He's obviously a mage. There's no way he could lead that many people and not be." Riven had thought of this. "No one has any inkling what he can do, though."

Riven scratched idly at a bit of dried blood on his shirt. "I have no idea what all of the possible powers are," he said finally, "so even idle speculation can't cover all of what he might have."

"Telepathy?" asked Tashir.

"I wouldn't know," Riven said honestly. "I couldn't thoroughly convince more than a few people to join up, I can't imagine how he'd lead by it. It's possible, though."

"Maybe he can just control the elements, and bullies people into fighting for him."

"Tashir, there's no way we can know," Riven said tiredly.

His brother frowned at him. "Riven, you've just slept the night. Are you alright?"

"Exhausted," Riven said. "I hadn't slept in days."

Tashir frowned at him, but nodded. "I'll stand watch," he said slowly, and resumed his spot at Riven's head, wishing him a speedy recovery.

* * *

Riven sat bolt upright when he was awkened by a nightmare three hours later. Tashir was no longer at his head, but at the door, accepting reports and messages. Riven stood up.

His sword, which he had not removed as he slept, dug painfully into his side. He unbuckled it annoyedly and tossed it into a corner, where it clattered noisily. He preferred his staff anyway. Tashir glanced back briefly as he heard the sword fall, but remained at the door.

Riven finally shed his bloody shirt, stripping to the waist. He reeked of sweat, and deep black and crimson stains crisscrossed his bare skin. A bit of water from his canteen, and some persistent scrubbing with his hands, eliminated most of the worst of it.

Demonsteel had kissed his flesh countless times in the last days of battle, but though he wiped away blood, he felt no wounds. No man touched by those damned and black blades ever hoped to survive, but Riven lived, and the cuts were gone. It pleased him; he knew the fevered deaths that demontainted wounds caused.

Riven frowned and retrieved his sword. He drew out just a few inches, and sliced lightly across his left forearm, shallow but long. Under his watch, the bloody stopped beading along it with seconds, the red flesh lightened to white, then was covered in dark skin without a trace of scarring. The process took less than a minute. He found it remarkable.

A tray of food had been left at his bedside. He ate ravenously, thinking it over. If he could heal other soldiers with magic, it logically followed that he would heal himself the same way. As he was rubbing the grease from his fingers, he thought of the demonsteel. He glanced at his sword. An idea for later.

Tashir was another quarter hour at the doorway, issuing orders, taking in reports. Riven approved of most of what he heard. When they spoke too low, he would use his loose bond with his brother to draw upon his hearing. Once he was finally finished, Tashir went back inside for his formal report.

"You missed some of the nicer bits, I suppose," the captain said with a grin. "Alorys approaches. She sends word agead that she defers to the will of the 'great Holy general'."

Riven chuckled. "What of General Dilam?"

"An ambassador from Asinos has already arrived by means of the General's nightmare. He carries the General's head."

"Nightmare," Riven muttered. "I've had terrible -- his head?" he asked, shocked. "Why?"

"He'll speak only to you," Tashir said grimly. "He's under guard. He had some questionable items in his possession, also guarded." Tashir leaned closer. "He carries things of magic."

General Dilam had been a mage.

Riven grabbed his staff and a fresh shirt. He also donned a chainmail vest, but left his sword where it lay. "Let's see him."

A group of guards escorted the two brothers to a building where the ambassador was being held. The two of them were alert, not knowing what a man capable of killing General Dilam might also be able to do.

The drow ambassador paced his cell impatiently. When riven entered, he stopped, and gazed at the General from behind the thick metal bars. Riven was tense and prepared to magically incapacitate the ambassador if he tried anything.

"I am General Riven Soulfire of the Ameliel army," he said by means of introduction. "Why do you ride into my city with the head of my peer at your fore?"

"I am Nosoves," the ambassador replied. "Know my words for truth, demon-mage." Riven opened himself up to sense the man';s surface thoughts. He knew from past experience that he could detect lies that way, but that this Nosoves also knew this was unnerving.

"Your general was possessed," the man continued. "Not by demons -- for they are gone," and the man peered at Riven oddly, "but by some force which twisted his mind and brought his power down upon the city council. All were injured before he was brought down. One was killed. I alone remained healthy enough to contact you."

Riven could sense the unspoken question. He was being approached, not as a soldier, but as a healer. "Bring two mounts around," he called out at his men, "And the stranger drow's. Gather travel supplies." Eight people needing his help. One dead. "When?" he asked Nosoves.

"I rode out at fight sight and first hope," he said. Asinos was an eight hour journey at best.

He could hear the demon-horses being brought to the front of the building. He unlocked the cell door. "To asinos, then," he said, and mounted his beast. Tashir and the other drow followed suit. "We'll return as we can," Riven told Captain Hamerc. "Guard the Portal. Alorys will arrive soon."

He touched a hand to Nosoves' arm briefly, and healed the soreness of riding and the effects of Dilam's magic from him. Electric burns. Lightning damage was difficult to heal. That done, he urged his mount south, to the city gates, and towards Asinos.

They rode hard, on their beasts, and into the city's center. Cheers from the Ameliel refugees in the street issued at Riven's passing. He had to dismount, lest the nightmare trample the milling crowds. This place was not nearly so empty as his own fallen city.

Nosoves led him up to the building, which they trotted up to. Guards barred the council chamber, but let them pass. Inside were healer treating the injured. Commoner healers; Riven couldn't sense his sort of healing being done.

Seven bodies, he counted. He counted again. "I was the least hurt," Nosoves told him again, "and came to you."

"The dead one's body?"

"Our leader was carted away for his honorable funeral, and--"

"Bring it here," Riven commanded.

He went to see to the men on the ground. Seven injured men. Lightning had passed through them. The feeling of life energy in here was dim.

Most would live, he realized, but two were on the brink. They were likely closest to the dead man when the lightning was unleashed. He knelt beside one, and touched his cold forehead. Yes -- he was having problems with his heart. Riven didn't have enough energy to completely heal all of them after the long ride, so he did what he could to ease this one's heart. He felt tissue reknit beneath his touch. He could feel the pain leaving.

Riven did the same for the other gravely injured man. The rest would live for now; they were a minor concern. He couldn't heal them all, not with the other task at hand. "Find me eight people," he told one of the guards, "soldiers or civilians, people who cre about your council leader's life. Bring them here. Choose only healthy, young men and women, and be certain that they are all drow." The guard nodded and went to his task.

Riven knew it was possible, but not if it would be so long afterward. A day? More? Eight people. Enough, he hoped. Tashir was coming.

A pair of confused priests came in and laid the council leader's body at the head of the chamber, ni the center of the table. Four guards ushered in eight young people.

"Your leader lies ill," he told them. "By your will, he will be revived." To what benefit of theirs, though? "You will be greatly rewarded for this service, should it succeed," he said vaguely. "You must stand in an unbroken circle and chant for me." That would be helpful. "No woman's hand should touch another woman's, and no man should hold with two women." There were only two women anyway. "Chant thus: 'From our spirit to your spirit, revive our lord.'"

Simple enough instructions. Little of it was important. He had them form the circle around him. He was not physically a part of it, but within it , at the dead man's head. Tashir appeared in the doorway, seeming winded. "Begin," Riven commanded.

"From our spirit to yours," they chanted.

It singled out his targets. Before he could begin to restore the man, he needed to heal the body. For that, he needed power. He drew from the circle.

"Revive our lord."

Yes, the body had the heal first, or it would not hold the spirit. If there was a spirit to hold. Demonmage. They completely butchered all demon corpses on the battlefield, lest life be returned to them. Week-old bodies had leapt up to kill them before.

"From our spirits to yours..."

The body was repaired quickly enough. Now would come the true drain. His spirit. Riven's soul searched for it in the immediate vicinity. It if had fled already. This would be impossible. He needed to find...

There! Riven felt it, identified it, saw it in his mind. He called for it, drew it to himself. He could control it. He commanded it down into the prone body before him, and compelled it to take hold.

"Revive our lord."

It was not his lord; he had to command it, now. It was too long from its body, and would not accept his will. It would not comply. Riven drew further upon the circle -- they wavered -- he had to finish this soon.

In a final burst of power, he forced the soul to his will, and placed it ack in the body. The man before him blinked weakly and opened his eyes, gazing at Riven.

Riven pulled one last draw of power from the circle, which promply broke. The people stumbled back. Riven absently forced the councilman's eyed closed.

"Damnit," he said irritably. "You weak fools caused me to fail." He looked thoroughly annoyed. "Pay them for their time and no more," he snapped at Tashir.

"Ten minutes," Tashir thought at Riven in answer. He gave two slips of tebrite each to the participants, and an extra to each female. A good trade: a man's life for just three strips.

After the eight stumbling young drow had been ushered back out, Riven went to see to the rest of the council members, having murmurred to the man on the table that he should rest for a few minutes. Buzzing with energy from the eight which he'd drained, he was able to heal the seven left on the grownd; they felt weak afterwards, but no longer in pain, and suffered no lasting effects.

Riven went back to examine the resurrected councilman, to ensure that there was no further damage. He was impressed by his own prowess. A day-old man had just been brought back to life by his power.

He helped the man up slowly. He remembered the man's name from a message what seemed like months ago, a message suggesting that the Ameliel survivors move to Asinos, signed by the man. "Are you alright, council leader Uninel?" he asked.

Uninel shuddered convulsively. "That hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before," he said honestly. "As if my soul was being ripped from my body."

Riven just laughed harshly, not bothering to tell this man that it was the brutal truth of it. "Do you feel any aftereffects?" he asked.

"I'm tired," Uninel said. "Very."

"It's understandable," Riven said compassionately. "I am too. It's a common side effect of healing."

"Sir -- sirs -- your rooms have been prepared," Nosoves broke in, speaking to Uninel, Riven, and Tashir. "If you would care to follow me."

"Council will recommence tomorrow," Uninel said with a nod. He looked annoyed. "We'll need to decide what to do about that bastard General and his--"

Riven laughed again, breaking Uninel off effectively. "General Dilam did not act on orders by the Ameliel army."

Uninel frowned at him suspicously. "Not that I discredit you, but what would you know of it, healer?" He seemed both reverent and irritated at the same time.

Elegantly, Tashir drew out his sword and pressed the tip to the council leader's neck. "Good Lord of Asinos, you speak to none other than the exalted General Riven Soulfire," he said smoothly, "a man of such power that he just called your life back from the grave to whence it had been for the better part of a day."

Riven gave a small mock bow, never taking his eyes from the council leader.

Uninel opened his mouth to speak, but didn't seem to be able to find words. After pausing a moment, he repeated weakly, "Council will recommence tomorrow." Tashir's sword was lowered at a silent indication by Riven. Uninel left the council chambers.

Nosoves led them to their guest quarters, seeming a bit uneasy. "That's treason at the least," he said quietly to them. "I'd hate to have him die... again."

The general merely nodded. "We'll share a room," he murmured quietly as they passed down the hall. Nosoves, not showing whether he thought this was unusual, directed them to one.

It was nicely decorated, with deep ebony furniture and a single, elegant bed. After assurring Nosoves that they didn't require, want, need, or desire any number of things, he left to find them a bit of supper.

"Once we eat," Tashir told Riven, "one of us needs to stand guard. If you could just keep me alert, I could--"

"Councilman Uninel is not going to try to assassinate you for that," Riven said calmly.

"Treason, Riven! You heard what he said. The man didn't look too pleased."

"I healed him," Riven reminded his brother. "I... I... I'm just certain he won't."

Surprised at seeing his brother falter in explaining something, Tashir didn't think to press the issue.

After food came, they ate quickly, and then retired to bed. Tashir offered to take the floor; Riven was too tired to argue. Though Riven fell asleep almost instantly from fatigue, removing only his chainmail vest before going to his bed, Tashir stayed up for several hours, watching the door until he, too, succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Riven's sleep was uneasy, but he felt well-rested afterwards. He also remembered how dirty he had been when he went to see Nosoves the day before, and went to look for a bath chamber. He found one. The bath was full of clean water, if somewhat cold, but Riven didn't much care.

He removed his clothing and settled in for a real bath, with soap and all. It was a good half hour before he reemerged from the tub, cold but clean. The water he left in was a murky red from bloody and sweat.

Tashir wandered in as Riven was wrapping a towel around himself, took one look at the water, and shuddered. He lowered himself into the tub for a good scrub, though. Afterwards, he rinsed off with fresh water from a jug near the sink.

By the time he was done, Riven was already examining some of the new clothes left in the room for them, trying to find something elegant that would fit his tall form. Tashir went through the discarded garments, settling for a pair of black pants and a deep red shirt as soon as he found some that fit.

It was another ten minutes before Riven found a pair of black pants that fit well enough. For his shirt, he chose a dark blue. He donned his chainmail vest atop it. He used his own boots and his belt, wide and made of black leather, which were the only salvagable parts of his discarded army uniform. He also found a dark cloak among the offered clothes, one with a hood. Though he couldn't find his staff, he felt ready to face the council.

Half an hour later, as they were finishing a small breakfast which had been brought to them, summons came for the brothers to come to the council chamber. All nine were sitting, they were informed, and had been doing so for the last two hours.

They were escorted by a full half-dozen city guards. When they were upon the council room, Riven didn't wait for the guards to open the great doors; he willed them open, and they swung to allow the contingent entry. There could be no mistake; if the council wanted to cause problems for their saviours, they needed to be reminded that they were dealing with not a pair of commoner soldiers, but the high-ranking elite of the Ameliel army: with mages.

All nine of the Asinos council stood as Riven and Tashir swept into the chamber and took a place standing in the middle, Tashir keeping a place just behind and to the side of his brother. Riven nodded when he'd come to the place he intended to stand, and as if by his signal, the council sat as one. Though he wore none of the insignia that indicated his rank, there could be no mistaking who he was.

Uninel, in the center, stood. Tashir tensed. "General Soulfire and Captain Stygian, Asinos thanks you for your generosity," the councillor said. "We offer you our gratitude, and our gifts." Amusement flitted over the mental link between the brothers.

"We offer you our city," he said simply, earning him a few surprised looks from the rest of the council, but none of them protested. He seemed entirely serious.

Riven smiled. "That you," he said graciously, "but I must leave soon to tend to my own." He didn't expect this much, but he expected similar. He knew from what he'd done before that people that he'd healed had a strange affinity towards him, but never to such an effect.

"It's no matter," said Uninel. "We will follow your orders, General." He brought up something else onto the table which made Riven grin in pure delight. "I also noticed you lost your staff," he said. "The city has such things come into its possession occasionally. This spear was particularly fine." Uninel smiled grimly. "Only the best to the protector of our people."

"Food has been dispatched to Ameliel," he continued, "to feed your army. Salted meats, oils, what vegetables are available, and a quantity of clean water." This was good news for Riven's troops, which had been operating on half-rations for over a week.

"Also," he continued, "when Nosoves came to get you, he brought along some other artifacts, which were confiscated." Unilel added a bound scroll to the spear on the table. "This, ah, explains what they are, for when you return. All will be made clear."

The council stood again in effective dismissal. Riven stepped forward to collect the spear and scroll. The spear was a good size, about as tall as he was and as wide as his thumb. He passed Tashir the scroll and warned him off silently. Not above a display, Riven twirled the spear around smoothly, making a few play thrusts before smiling at the council in thanks and saluting them. Uninel saluted back. With that, Riven turned on his heel and left to return to Ameliel.


	4. The Battle of Darkness

The Ameliel army was all arranged. Several ranks of foot soldiers stood at its fore. There is no cavalry; there aren't enough nightmares to form such a thing. Only commanders had such privilege, and they don't rush in at the front of battle. Behind the foot soldiers were two solid lines of archers, all with full quivers, all at the ready.

Lomolen and Azale had strapped into Cantori and were on the ground waiting to ascend. The Hellendrill mages were all in position and ready.

Mages were more or less evenly spread out behind the archers, ready to wield fire or lightning or whatever Talent they had in service of Riven's drow. Some were not at the back; Zaktaran was at the front. Tashir, too, on his nightmare, was going to fight with sword as well as power. Alorys was with her archers. Riven was surveying it all.

Theryn looked off nervously to the east, fingering the gems in her pockets. Riven was mounted on his nightmare. He was tense; his spear was in his hand. He also wore his sword and the Shadowshiv. He waited for a sign of the enemy. Azale wished he were already in the air where he could see them, trying to squint through the army to spot them.

Suddenly, a great moving mass appeared at the horizon. They were running; they were coming. A great line of humans, of light elves, of some drow, some dwarves, some of all. 

Zaktaran gripped his scimitars in hand, grinning eagerly at the prospect of battle.

The onward-rushing mass began to be covered in hazy pink light. All along, and beginning to move back, through the ranks, faerie fire engulfed the enemy.

Riven gave the order to Lomolen. Simultaneously, lightning streaked through the air at the Ameliel troops.

Lomolen poured mana into the diamond, and an inky darkness covers the battlefield, lit only by the warm red glow of heated bodies to infravision and the pink faerie flames around the enemy soldiers.

The lightning struck a solid barrier in the air, spreading out for a moment harmlessly before vanishing.

Blinding light had come up just a moment before the darkness; the darkness won out. It left a painful afterimage in drow eyes, but the light, it seemed, was no match for such complete darkness.

Riven, wearing his pilfered boots, cape, and gloves, as well as the dagger and glasses, was well dressed for battle, but didn't intend to partake directly in it.

The archers let forth their first volley into the confused mass of the Schade army. Azale picked out some of the mages that had cast the lightning with his enhanced Seeking vision, and Lomolen relayed the information to the mages below. The archers fired at will at the enemy. Some of the glowing pink figures fell to the ground. More rushed on.

One enemy drow spotted a bit of heat above, and tried to shoot it down with his bow. An arrow struck Azale's foot, who gave a short yelp of pain.

Tashir shouted the order for the foot soldiers to go forward. They rushed onward at the sign of heat ahead. Riven stayed back, by Theryn, and watched.

Lomolen, concerned, asked Azale if he's alright, who replied that he was fine. The wound wasn't very deep.

Theryn with her turquoise was keeping the shield over the troops, deflecting any lightning, fire, or whatever might come their way. Riven's mind flitted around. He checked on Tashir and his men; on Alorys and hers; on Azale.

Azale focused upon the task at hand, picking out other mages to eliminate. The two fronts clashed. It was a slaughter; the Schade light elves were effectively blind to it. The Hellendrill mages rained fire, lightning, stones, and ice down upon the enemy mages.

Azale, feeling a little dizzy, thought he saw something not quite right about the enemy army, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. He pointed out a few more mages as he peered intently down at them. He saw weaves of illusion, but with the faerie fire covering many of the enemy soldiers, it was difficult to detect anything out of the ordinary.

The archers stopped firing, and drew out their own weapons, going forward to join the footmen. They didn't dare hit their own men.

Then he spotted illusion on a couple soldiers that didn't have any faerie fire around them. In fact, they seemed to have appeared out of thin air. What the--? Frantically, his head spinning, Azale peered around the battlefield, trying to pick out anything that's different about them.

Realizing what was going on, Lomolen urgently sent to Riven that this wasn't their full army. Fully half of them were really illusions. Riven sent directly to Azale that he needed to know where the other half was, and how to tell which are illusions.

Azale looked around on the horizon, trying to find some indication of the rest of the army. Under cover of invisibility, he spotted the remainder trying to flank them to the south.

Riven cursed, and yelled with his voice and mind for Alorys to get back to him. He also alerted Tashir of the problem, but could offer no way to identify the illusions. He needed to target the mages casting them.

However, Azale could not immediately think of any way for a non-Seeker to detect the illusions easily. The skilled illusionists who created them did so with heat signatures as well. But as the illusionists were struck down one by one, the pseudo soldiers vanished as well.

Azale continued to try to track down the culprit illusionists, his head spinning and his blood burning, his heart racing. The Hellendrill mages targeted them and more of the illusions vanish into thin air.

Riven still tried to draw back some of his foot soldiers. He couldn't hold off half an enemy army by himself.

Lomolen could sense Azale's pain, and asked him again if he was alright. Azale tried to block it out and assured him that he's fine.

Riven thumbed the amethyst in his pocket.

Dark flames exploded in a section of enemy soldiers, taking out two of their mages at once. A couple dozen illusions quavered and vanished.

Riven sat on his mount worriedly. This was getting worse. Nero must have known far earlier that drow were all capable illusionists. Any of them would have followed him in return for knowledge of how to use it. Meanwhile, even Alorys' division could not possibly stand to half of Nero's army.

Azale's mind spun, and a faint memory comes to mind about illusions. Gripping the harness tightly even though he was firmly strapped in, he sent it to Lomolen, who simply nodded slightly in response and tried to modify the darkness. Under the rippling darkness, the remainder of the illusions all vanished. The faerie fire around many of the soldiers dimmed for a moment but kindled up again.

Azale was more concerned about the half of the army to the south now. Some flashes of bright light tried to dispel Lomolen's darkness, but they were smothered quickly under its oppressive blanket.

They came from the south; the arrows weren't very effective, the enemy had shields. Faint purple flames enveloped Riven and the men around him, markers by a quick-learning enemy. The majority of the mages in the east half of the army taken care of, Lomolen turned his attention toward those to the south. Riven didn't have nearly enough soldiers with him to take care of this.

Theryn growled as she tied off her shield and grabbed the biggest rock she could lift, and rained stones down upon those approaching her. As the stones fell down, fire exploded from within the enemy, a great rolling ball of fire expanding and rending a great hole in the troops. But it was filled in as more rushed forward.

The Schade army to the east was retreating. Cantori flew in like the win, Lomolen's glaive slashing down at soldiers then flying up out of reach before they could retaliate. Azale just held on tight, barely conscious.

Riven took hold of his spear. They were almost atop him. He dug in his heels, the great nightmare rearing up before rushing forward.

Lomolen then confused them with their own tactic by creating several false outlines of faerie fire of griffins sweeping in and attacking them. He slashed and clawed, zipping this way and that, seeming to be everywhere at once.

Riven moved forward into the enemy, his spear stabbing, the nightmare ripping apart the men. Faerie fire surrounded him, leaving him an open target. Arrows flew. Some struck him; he ignored them.

A greatly outnumbered section of Ameliel troops fought by Riven. Theryn, seeing Cantori above them, exploded some of the rocks beneath the enemy's feet. Those from the east were trying to move around to aid the southern division.

Zaktaran appeared from somewhere, faerie fire licking at his form, but he ignored it, plunging into the middle of the army, scimitars spinning. Lomolen expanded his illusion, creating several more false faerie-fire outlines surrounding the enemy troops, making it look to them like they were outnumbered.

Tashir, having rushed from the north on his quick nightmare -- his troops some distance behind -- slashed wildly with his sword. The earth rolled at his command, throwing many of the enemy from their feet.

Lomolen was tired but relentless, fighting with rage and hate and a fierce determination. Azale realized his heart had stopped beating and wondered dimly if he was dying.

The enemy still surged forward. For those at the front, there was no chance for escape. They fought onward. Riven drew from those before him, keeping up his strength. Theryn continued to rip at the enemy with spells, large craters appearing in the ground before them, many of them stumbling and falling in.

Tashir fought with magic and sword, cutting a line through the enemy, fighting his way to his brother. Blood flew as Cantori ripped apart several light elves to shreds. The soldiers to the east still hadn't arrived.

Azale looked around, vaguely wondering why he was still conscious, then pulled out a knife and tried to help what little he can by stabbing at the soldiers as Cantori sweeps down.

Riven had several arrows sticking out from his chest, but he fought on. The nightmare crushed anything that came too close to him. Zaktaran had cut a path of bodies around him. Cuts covered his body but none of them were bleeding.

Azale got a lucky shot and stabbed a human through the eye. He stared numbly at the blood on the dagger as he saw the man fall before Cantori zips off again.

Suddenly, to the southeast of the enemy -- the south-southeast of Riven's division -- the sounds of battle erupted anew. It seemed that the eastern division had flanked the Schade men.

Cantori, Lomolen, and Azale were covered in blood, little of it actually theirs. Riven was covered in blood, with the same self-to-enemy ratio. Tashir finally broke through and joined his brother. The two move onward.

Theryn, feeling herself getting tired, stopped trying to attack the enemy and focuses upon the shield. Though flanked, the enemy still outnumbered Riven's people.

Lomolen was too busy directing Cantori and slashing at the enemy soldiers to ask how Azale was or notice that he had no pulse. Riven was too occupied to check. He continued to move forward. Zaktaran continued to fight. He had a nasty-looking gash across his throat, and several cuts on his cheeks.

Riven now had both his spear and the Shadowshiv out, using both hands; Tashir wielded two swords. Their mounts toppled any enemies that they don't, though people continue to try. The prospect of killing the enemy leaders blinded men to reason.

Lomolen laughed aloud as his glaive cut through three men at once. They continued to fight fiercely. If they hadn't done their trick with the darkness, they surely would have been overrun; the illusions and flanking were well-planned manouvers. Lomolen and Cantori had proven to be fierce aerial fighters. Riven envied them their agility, when he sensed the airborne bodies fighting.

Riven realized that this darkness was really more of a hindrance, now that his own side was marked as well, and he could barely tell what's going on. He sent to Lomolen, asking him to stop it now. Lomolen returned an acknowledgement, and he let off the darkness slowly.

Riven shouted out a fierce battle cry. The men rallied to him, and group around him, before rushing forward again. Their eyes were much better able to see in this natural darkness than the enemy's.

Azale clung to the back of Cantori, blinking slightly as the area brightened. The Ameliel men were slowly surrounding the Schade troops. Theryn watched Cantori as he flitted above the enemy soldiers, evading their attacks, too tired to do more than continue to maintain her shields.

Riven doesn't dare take prisoners. "No quarter," he shouted. "No mercy!" His men were only too happy to oblige him. Zaktaran laughed aloud as blood spilled around him.

Riven drew back from the battle, letting his men rush around him, watching them push forward, but not moving with them. He went back to his part as General: an observer.

The flanking half of the Schade army was fully destroyed, to the joy of all. A huge cheer erupts as the last man fell. Riven was really just relieved.

Cantori circled a few times to make sure they didn't miss anything and there was nobody invisible trying to sneak up behind them again.

Kefari turned up from somewhere. He was covered in blood and healing any injured Ameliel soldiers he came across. Riven thought he should probably do the same, but he truly didn't have enough energy for it. Not when most of his casualties would be dead already. He'd heal his mages, though. They, he know, saved his men from sure death.

First, though, he dealt with his own injuries. He shook his chainmail vest free of any arrows sticking into it, then plucked a few out of his arms and shoulder. It wasn't really a bother to him. Riven began the difficult task of wiping off his dagger, not wanting to have the inconvenience of holding it. He did so hastily before sheathing it.

After the third circle, Cantori landed near Riven, panting slightly from the battle. Lomolen unstrapped himself from the griffin and helped Azale down. "You okay there, kiddo? You look like a zombie."

Riven raised his spear in hail to Lomolen.

Azale, though very pale, still holding his bloody dagger, just nodded. "I'm fine."

Riven dismounted his bloody nightmare and went to see to Lomolen and Azale. He was still in pain, but it had settled into a more continuous dull ache than the burning he first experienced.

"Lomolen, you did excellently," Riven said honestly. Lomolen did a lot more than Riven did, really.

Azale gave the dagger back to Lomolen. "I think this is yours."

Lomolen grinned, taking the dagger and wiping it off, bowing slightly to Riven. Riven just grinned. Cantori stopped to snack on a dead light elf.

"You alright there, Azale?" he asked. The boy looked pale, but then, any eight-year-old being exposed to the deaths of some... gosh, he didn't know, over a hundred thousand?... to that many people dying would be pale.

The men elsewhere were celebrating, but mostly with their own respective generals.

"I'm okay. But I could use a bath." He looked down at his bloody clothing, then went up to Riven.

Riven looked at him oddly. Something didn't seem quite right. Azale looked up at Riven with strangely dark eyes. Riven couldn't imagine what it was he's feeling from the boy, but it wasn't natural. Yet, somehow, it seems familiar. The arrow that had struck him had broken off long ago, but the point was still wedged in his foot.

"I hope none of that blood is yours," he said, still examining Azale.

Azale shook his head. "Cantori made a big mess clawing at everything. I didn't think blood could spurt out of somebody's neck that far."

Riven laughed. "That he did. And it can." Riven did, however, try to heal Azale, just in case there was something the boy didn't notice.

"Ai!" Azale jumped in sudden pain.

Riven frowned, but cut the flows off immediately. "What," he asked, "the hell was that."

"Whatever you did, it burned."

"I tried to heal you."

Azale worked up his face in an odd expression. The onyx necklace seemed to be humming ever so faintly. Riven couldn't tell what it is he senses around the boy, but he knows its nature now. It has to be soul magic, or he wouldn't sense anything strange. Azale looked down at the necklace and at himself.

Riven just stared at the boy, then muttered, "I'll take care of it later, if you'll be fine for a few hours."

"I'm okay. I think." He didn't feel like taking off the necklace and testing that theory though.

"You'd damn well better be," he muttered.

Riven mounted again and goes to see Theryn. She'd be weak; he needed to make sure she slept. And make sure she was kept safe. "Take care of him for me," he sent to Lomolen as he speeds away.

Lomolen went up to Azale and patted him on the shoulder. "Just don't try to eat my brains, ok?"

Theryn had let down her shield after realizing they were all dead, and was sitting trying to catch her breath.

Riven offered her a hand. "Mount up," he said. "I'll bring you somewhere you can sleep." He could sense her fatigue.

He didn't have time to celebrate. He had an undead child in his care, and only half his army now under his command. He didn't know how the Hellendrill mages are doing, either.

Theryn mounted up onto the nightmare. He rode her back to camp, to which most of the army were now returning. Some were out hunting lone, fleeing Schade bastards.

Theryn was only half-conscious by this point. The Hellendrill mages, those of them that were still on their feet, were trying to regroup and find one another. Riven lay Theryn down in his own tent and covered her up. Reports would be coming to him in the next few hours; he'd be around to protect her. He was still plenty awake. Theryn was asleep before she is even horizontal.

Riven told Lomolen where he is. He also alerted Tashir and Alorys of the same, for their reports. Lomolen set Azale on top of Cantori and they headed toward Riven on foot. Riven was worried about Azale. He didn't know what could have happened. He didn't even know what the result is. How did it happen, and what happened, he wondered.

After a while, Cantori and Lomolen walked up to Riven's general vicinity. Men all around were washing up, tending weapons, and (most often) drinking. Lomolen poked his head in at Riven.

"Come in," Riven said.

Lomolen entered, followed by Azale. Riven looks rather concerned. Azale smiled uneasily at Riven.

* * *

_Missing section: Riven figures out how to unzombify Azale and does so._


	5. Musings of the Shadow Queen

Vanankyte paced around the top of the Tower of Shadows in Stygia, brooding. The light of the blood red moon spilled in, accenting her translucent form. Beautiful and deadly was the shape of the Shadow Queen, Vanankyte.

They had killed her servant, the drow Traveller, Tilf. This was of no consequence to her. She had more servants far more useful than him. What bothered her was the fact that in the process they had found out about her, and seen her face. They now knew about her. 

Perhaps this would make them seek her out and bring them into her power, she mused. It was unlikely, however. They were telepaths, and she had a hard time controlling telepaths. No, it was no good. It would be bad for them to come here. She would be forced to destroy them rather than make use of them, and that was a waste. 

They would bear watching. If they left well enough alone, she wouldn't worry too much about them. If they started poking their noses into business they didn't belong in, she would have then disposed of. 

Vanankyte reached out and summoned one of her other servants. Response was prompt and obedient, unlike that useless Tilf, who often delayed in his returns. The demoness did not turn to look at the newcomer. She merely continued to gaze out at the blood red sea lit by the moon of War. 

"I want you to go watch these people," Vanankyte told him. "Azale Shadowhand and his cohorts. Be discrete, but report to me immediately anything you hear them speak of me." 

"Yes, mistress," the man spoke quietly. "It will be as you wish." 

Without turning to look, Vanankyte wove Mind Magic over the man's thoughts, concealing his memories and making him impervious to all but the deepest telepathic probes. That done, she sent him off to Asinos, where Azale and his companions were last known to be. 

Travellers were such elusive creatures, but she'd managed to work a number of them into her service. None of them had yet found the perfect host for her, however. Still she waited. Time was on her side, but she was slowly growing impatient with the constant waiting. It seemed all of the more powerful mages were also telepaths, or did not have the Talents she really wanted. No matter. They would find one eventually. It was inevitable. Preferably a female, but she would settle on a male if he had the right Talents. 

Quietly, Vanankyte turned back to her musings and continued to wait.


	6. The Return of Morring

Word spread quickly through the caverns of Straegarx about the disappearance of the demons and the falling of the wards. Although the demons were gone, the castle remained, and it was now open for entry to mensch. Interpid dwarves, gnomes, and drow came to the castle to investigate, and found there not a single trace of the demons who had occupied the place for so long. Thus they inhabited it and claimed it as their own.

They were not, however, the only ones to hear about the opening of the castle. Deep in the dark pits of Straegarx, word reached Morring about her castle, and at once she Travelled in to the scene. Sure enough, the rumors were true, the demons were gone and the wards had fallen. With no explanation as to what happened to why, Morring confined herself to the darkest chambers of her castle and there remained, ignoring the dwarves and gnomes and speaking little to the drow. 

No amount of time or exposure had allowed the Curse to loosen its hold of her even in the slightest. She would have gouged out her own eyes were the effects simply visual, but even the faintest flicker of light burned her skin and was pain to her. Over the centuries she had grown to resent this greatly, for she could not tolerate even the moonlight of Mezulbryst. 

The dwarves began to wonder, who was this reclusive drow sorceress living in the castle? The drow told them simply that it was Morring, who claimed to be the master of this castle. But of what other note the woman possessed, they didn't know. They didn't remember that she had once been Queen of the Drow, and their race probably wouldn't have existed without her. 

Matriarch Kezerel came in from the nearest drow settlement, Nysali, and promptly laid claim to the castle as her own. Morring was angered at this notion when she found out, and pulled on a heavy hooded cloak to go and confront the woman. Bad enough that the drow had forgotten her, but she would not be pushed aside so easily by a mere mage. 

"Halt!" declared the guards, attempting to prevent her passage. "The Matriarch has requested that nobody disturb her!" 

"Move aside," Morring said in a quiet, tense voice. "Or I will move you aside." 

The guards glanced at one another nervously, and one of them sounded an alarm. Morring, in irritation, casually flung the guards to either side and strode into the throne room. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Kezerel demanded, shooting to her feet and gesturing that Morring be taken into custody. 

Guards attempted to approach Morring, but again she hurled them aside, slamming them against the walls, and walking unimpeded toward the Matriarch. Wards and telekinetics attempted to hold her back, but she tossed them aside like flimsy ropes and came to stand directly before the Matriarch. 

"This," Morring spoke, in a low, dangerous tone, "is _my_ castle." 

"Guards! Restrain her! Remove her!" Kezerel ordered, but the guards could not comply. 

"I advise you stop making claims to things that are not yours," Morring told her fiercely. 

"This is preposterous," the Matriarch huffed. "This castle has been occupied by none but demons for the last century." 

"Yes," Morring said quietly. "It was. And who do you think built it? Not the demons, to be sure." She raised her voice, speaking to the room at large, "There is a reason why this is called Castle Morring, you know." 

The guards shifted uneasily, having regained their feet, but no longer attempting to restrain the sorceress. They didn't recognize the name, for they had always refered to the place as the Demon Castle. 

Morring turned and stepped away from the Matriarch, to address the audience chamber. "You may have forgotten me," Morring spoke, "but I have not forgotten you. Nor have I forgotten the betrayal of the drow, nor why the Curse was put in place. You've forgotten much, my wayward children." 

There were murmurings among the guards and servants. What was this strange woman getting at? Who was she? What did she mean? Their questions would go unanswered, for the moment at least. Morring waved a hand to the Matriarch, and the woman vanished without a trace. 

"Fret not," Morring told the guards. "She has been returned to Nysali. Next time she seeks to overstep her bounds, I will not be so merciful. Whosoever wishes to return with her, say so." Morring took her seat in the throne. "As for the rest of you, I expect loyalty." 

After sending several of the guards home, Morring was contented with those that remained, fearful as they were of what they had just witnessed. Silly mensch, Morring thought to herself. A little Motion and some Catalysm and they were all cowering as if they'd just seen the greatest feats of magic in existance. She attributed it to how casually she did it all, and how easy she made it seem. Because surely they had seen magic more spectacular than that before. 

"Inform the inhabitants of the castle," Morring spoke to a page. "Morring has returned." Then, as an afterthought, with a bit of a sigh, "And tell them who I am." 

She shouldn't have had to remind them of who she was, she thought to herself as the page ran off to make the announcement. No matter. Centuries tended to do that to foolish mensch. Some people they elevated to near-godhood through myth and legend, while others faded into obscurity. 

Morring commanded new laws for the castle. No light brighter than faerie fire was allowed within the castle, and anyone who broke this law was to be taken to the dungeon. There were to be no shiny metals or sparkly gems, either. Confident in her new laws, Morring finally ventured to lower the hood of her cloak. 

In their day, Morring and her sisters, Calring and Mithring, had each been radiantly beautiful. She didn't know what had become of her sisters, however, but long years of darkness had worn heavily upon Morring. Her hair had grown to be a dull white, rather than the silver it had been when she was first Cursed with this appearance. The eyes that in most drow gleamed a fiery red were barely a pale flicker in Morring. Even though her face was unlined by age, the color of her eyes and hair defied everything she had been through. 

"I will not be forgotten again," Morring murmured, mostly to herself. A few guards nearby heard her and shifted uncomfortably. "Never again. Never again."


	7. Castle Morring

Hawthorne was stoned until she was bleeding and bruised and so terribly hurt that the crowd left her for dead, slowly. Once they were cleared off, some men came to take her away to a holding cell, where she could spend the next few days recovering. Alone. Slowly. She wasn't even really moving at the moment, and aside from knowing she'd been soultrapped you'd not even know she was alive. Riven would let her stew in her own tenderized body for a while. Perhaps then she'll not be so flip. Doubtful, but time is often a very capable punisher.

Thorn was on her feet again. She didn't overly feel like running a marathon at the moment, but she could walk. Riven went to check on her. She went to hug Riven when she saw him come in. 

Riven hugged her back. "I'm sorry, I think you missed the festivities." 

"Festivities?" 

"The person who put Suzcecoz up to doing that," Riven explained. "Including the soulfire. We had a public event of hatred and the like." 

"Oh. That's okay." 

"Yeah? You doing okay, Thorn?" He was concerned about what Hawthorne said, about Talents being burned out. 

"I'm sure you got them good." 

"Sure did," Riven said. "And she'll be around a while, I think, if you want to bat her around a bit." 

Thorn nodded. "I'm alright. Still a bit weak, but I'm recovering." 

"Your magic... is it alright?" 

Thorn seemed a bit confused. She shifted form into that of a drow woman. "Seems fine to me." 

"What about your Speaking?" 

"Er. Oh. I don't know," Thorn admitted. "That's a little harder to check." 

"I guess." 

"No matter. I bet you're fine." 

"Sing and dance," Thorn commanded. 

Riven felt absolutely no compulsion to do so. "You're not trying very hard, are you." He snickered. Then sighed. 

"It's okay. I don't need it." 

"I guess." He hugged her. 

Thorn smiled at him, and hugged him tightly. She was really more comfortable without it, actually. "I'll be fine." 

"Hmm. You know... I'm planning a short expedition to Straegarx. I know you've seen a lot of the world, but I'm not going in that area. Interested?" 

Thorn nodded slightly. "Sounds good to me." 

"I've just got to pick up a Traveller somewhere -- hell of a lot more convenient than the Nexus." Really, he wasn't sure if she could recall, though he figured it a base enough skill that he hoped she could. 

He tepped summons at Valarian. Thorn nodded. Valarian appeared promptly. Riven waved. "Not busy I hope?" 

Valarian said, "Not particularly." He seemed slightly, although not completely, drunk. 

"Remember that castle on Straegarx near where the Abyss is there? I was wondering what happened to it, since the Abyss was moved. Care to take us?" 

Valarian nodded agreement, and teleported them to its general vicinity. And Riven started walking towards it, skimming to see if the demons truly were gone from it. There were no demons at all within the castle, although there were a number of dwarves and drow and a smattering of gnomes. 

"Damn. Someone beat me to it." He didn't stop heading over, though. "How did they know so soon?" 

Thorn moseyed on after them. Valarian shrugged. "I'd suspect, considering they live here..." 

"Mmmph." 

Riven made his way up to the doors. There were a couple guards posted at the gates, but they stood open and welcoming. He smiled at them and went in. The guards made no move to stop them, and bid them good day. Riven returned the happy greeting. 

"So what's this? 'Hey, we found a castle, let's let everyone in for fun'?" 

One of the guards on the inside of the castle, a young male drow, told them, "Welcome to Castle Morring. Obey the laws of te castle. No bright lights or shiny objects." 

Riven snickered. "Castle... Morring?" Side effect of being a telepath was having an exceptional memory for names you heard only once, even if they were spouted angrily by female elves at the time. 

"That's right," the guard said. "Ruled by Morring. Do you wish to see her?" 

He laughed. "Sure!" 

The guard led them to the throne room. There was a woman sitting on the throne, clearly a drow, although she was wearing a heavy black cloak and her appearance seemed a little more extreme than most drow. Riven hung back. This was one of Hawthorne's get. 

"Welcome to Castle Morring," the woman said quietly. "My castle." 

"You have claimed it with exceptional swiftness from the demons," Riven said in tones of equal volume. Morring. Damn, maybe fate was fucking with him. 

Morring gave a soft snort. "If you think I got here quickly, Matriarch Kezerel somehow got here before me, and I had to boot her." 

Riven snickered. "I'm amazed she has that much nerve." 

"Have you been briefed upon the laws of the castle?" 

"No bright light, no shiny objects. Anything further?" 

"That is all, for the moment," Morring told him. "Of course, trying to kill me or something stupid like that would receive obvious results." 

"Obvious results like you being dead? Yes, that's typical." 

Morring just glared at him. "Who are you?" 

He chuckled. "I'm just kidding. Okay? That's all." 

"For your sake, I would hope so." 

"I don't want you dead." 

"Do you know who I am?" 

"You're a Dragon-Blood, aren't you?" 

"That's right," Morring told him. 

"Related to Lariole Hawthorne Chelseer." 

"I am Morring Chelseer Dragonblood." 

"Yes." 

"Thus far, you are the first here to recognize my name," Morring said dryly. 

"She said it once. Or twice. In anger. Or something." 

"She? Who?" the woman wondered. 

"Hawthorne." 

"She's still around?" 

"Sure. Not in any condition to speak, mind you." 

"I'm surprised. I'd have thought her tongue would have gotten her killed ages ago." 

"You don't like her?" Riven asked. 

Morring chuckled softly. "Not all Chelseers are alike, my dear." 

"Terrific." 

"Nor do they all get along." 

"Have you only had one child? Who was it?" He wanted to know just when this link was, if she was involved. 

"My only daughter is Caera Darkspell Shadowhand Chelseer Dragonblood. However, she has since disowned me." 

He clicked his tongue. "You're that old?" 

Morring looked a little annoyed. "Yes, I'm that old." 

"You wear the centuries beautifully." 

"You flatter me, sir. I do not. Unless you are blind and cannot see the color of my hair or my eyes." 

He shrugged. "A lot of old people have senile and disorganized minds." 

"Mmh," Morring grunted. "I am not senile." 

"You're not. That's why you wear time well." 

"Eccentric one might call me, but never senile." 

"Your relative eccentricity is moot." 

"Perhaps. Perhaps. Praytell, have you heard word of my sisters, then? Calring and Mithring?" 

"I have not." 

Morring nodded. "Excellent." 

"So. This is your castle. Until it was freed, where were you?" 

"In the darkest cave I could find." 

"Understandable." 

"If you think you have it bad... My eyes can't even tolerate the moonlight of Mezulbryst." 

"Why so sensitive?" 

"I think it's all Swamp's fault." 

"Ah," Riven said. "That bastard. Remember what I said about relative eccentricity? Compared to him, you're damn stable." 

"Even though I wasn't even recognized as Queen of the Drow any longer when the Curse was put in place." 

"... you were before the Curse?" 

"Long before," Morring told him. "You see what you get? I help to shape a civilization, and few of them even remember me now." 

"I do." If not for that. 

"Mmph." 

"It's a shame you're so sensitive," Riven said. "Mezulbryst prospers." 

"That's good." 

"The drow do well, there." 

"What of Wilderplane? Khiszalr?" 

"Khiszalr, I've only ever seen one dark elf on. Wilderplane is alright. I've seen some drow there." Some of her descendants, mostly, but he won't mention that yet. "Wait. Only one _natural_ dark elf on Khiszalr." 

"Khiszalr... Ah, it was terrible. The high elves fought to drive out the dark elves, and for the most part, succeeded." 

"The high elves?" Riven laughed. "Nine months ago, three million of them were, erm, 'inexplicably' killed." He realized a little late that Valarian was _there_. Damn. 

"Mmm. Methinks Calring will not be pleased." 

"Fine with me." 

Valarian said nothing. Riven tepped a quiet apology. Valarian tepped back that he recognized the name Calring. 

"Actually, Khizsalr got ahold of a few drowrings -- they were after your time, sort of -- and there are a few thousand dark elves there now." 

Valarian thought in Riven's general direction, "Calring is going to kill me..." 

"Explain," Riven tepped at Valarian. "You know her?" 

Valarian tepped, "Sort of. Not directly. But there's not a high elf on Khiszalr that's never heard the name Calring." 

Morring said, "Ah. I see. They were created to combat the Curse, yes." 

"Yes. And worked pretty well..." 

"Did you hear word of my daughter, then, though? You seemed to have recognized the name of sorts." 

"I don't know how she fares. Your great-granddaughter -- one of them -- is a nice and healthy drow baby, less than two weeks old, though." He looked smug. 

Morring blinked for a moment. "Great... granddaughter?" 

"Rendalla." 

"My. I knew it had been a long time, but I didn't think that long." 

"Rendalla Soulfire Shadowhand." 

"Hell. You didn't think _that_ long? There's countless generations stemming to you on Wilderplane." 

Morring just stared. "It's easy to lose track of the passage of time. Particularly considering the Planar Wars." 

"One of whom, I might add, inherited the Zarnith a while back. Irritated Hawthorne greatly, too." 

Morring seemed absolutely pleased at that last. 

"Planar Wars. Terrible stuff." 

"And do you know why the Abyss suddenly disappeared?" 

"Sure, baby. My doing. Indirectly." 

"I would presume you were involved in some manner, for you to have turned up here to investigate." 

"Damned straight." 

Morring stood up and heads toward a side room, and gestured at them to follow. Riven did so. Thorn and Valarian did so as well. 

This Morring was damned interesting, Riven thought. And not as objectional as some of her relatives. 

Morring sat down at a table and said, "Please. Sit down. Tell me alllll about it." 

He took a seat opposite, smiling. Thorn and Valarian shrugged mentally and sat down at the table. 

"So. What the hell did you do to piss off Swamp that badly?" Riven asked. "Mind you, he's easy to piss off." 

"Damned if I know," Morring said. "I wasn't even actively involved with the drow at the time." 

"I want to appear knowledgable," Riven tepped at Valarian. "What do you know of Calring?" 

"What kind of mage are you, anyway?" 

Valarian told Riven mentally that Calring was the sort of Sorceress Queen of the high elves, she held a tower mainly for show on Khiszalr. Riven nodded mentally, and asks if Valarian knows anything about a Mithring. 

Morring said, "Mmm. Now that one is difficult to explain. I am, by inborn, a necromancer, although my Talents are by no means limited to that." 

"Realllly." One of those other people who might actually be him. Damned people. 

Valarian told Riven that Mithring is little known but for legend, for having been the queen of the once-great grey elves of Khiszalr. Riven asked if Morring was part of any of those legends. 

Morring said, "I do have a good deal of Talent in Illusion, Motion, and Catalysm, as well." 

He smiled at Morring. "Nice. Those are some of the most damned useful Talents." 

Valarian replied an affirmative, that Morring was the queen of the drow in those legends. But the legends stated that after the great wars, only Calring remained. Riven gave a mental nod. Valarian also clarified, the drow were never called such. They were dark elves. Elves with dark hair. 

Morring nodded in agreement. "They get me by." 

Riven noted to Valarian that this Morring seemed to not like Calring, and if Calring took it to her head to murder Valarian for his bout of purple pox, they might be able to get help. 

"A Greater Elkandu took it to her head to open up the Abyss." 

Morring raises an eyebrow, thinking that said person was clearly insane. 

"Another one decided being able to destroy the universe by opening up a pit in the ground was a bad liability. So it got moved." He shrugged. 

"I see. Hawthorne wouldn't have happened to be involved, was she?" 

"Sure was. She put the other person up to it." 

Morring grinned. "Thought so." 

"You missed the public stoning of Hawthorne for her role in it." Riven snickered. 

"And I would guess, that Keolah was the one who moved it, being the only one with both the power and common sense to do so." 

"Yep." 

Morring chuckled softly. 

"The person who actually let the demons out was a third friend of theirs. Whether lesbian partner or just friend, I couldn't tell you." 

Morring raised both eyebrows. "I ... see. Er... Keolah and Hawthorne are fifth cousins." 

"Sure. As I said, I'm not sure if they were." 

Although, she thought, its not like two females could have produced offspring anyway, and not like fifth cousins would be considered incest to begin with. Though, she went on to think, knowing Keolah, she probably could have figured out a way. Morring quickly dismissed that line of thought as "I'd rather not think about it." 

"Hmm, you're about that era. Did you ever know Sedder?" 

"Of course. Everyone knows of Sedder." 

Riven checked lightly if she her mind were warded against telepathy, and discovered that she was not. "Just wondering." 

"Back when 'dark elves' were considered evil dark-haired elves and not dark-skinned elves. Back before the Curse." 

Riven sighed. "You seem pretty bitter about that." 

"Although, too much Time Travel went on during that time period." 

"Time travel is nasty." 

Morring remembered how she looked in her youth. A radiantly beautiful elf with raven-black hair and ivory skin, and eyes black like dark pearls. 

"You're far too bitter," Riven muttered. 

"No. I am not." 

"You are." 

"Not about that, at any rate." 

"Mmm," Riven said noncommittally. "So. The matriarch from up north came to bug you? Need me to settle her for you?" 

Morring said, "I found her in the castle, claiming it as her own. I've already dealt with her." 

"She doesn't learn lessons well." 

"I've noticed. I sent her home, this time. Next time, I'll probably overshoot a bit and land her in the lava lake by Veyrkaal." 

"No, no, that's no good. Forget teleportation. Just paralyze her with your necromancy. She doesn't like being helpless." 

"Hmph," Morring said. "What do you normally do, annoy your enemies to death instead of kill them?" 

"Yeah," Riven replied. "It's caused me a few troubles in the past with people getting out of the annoyance machines, but it's overall effective." 

"Although personally, I prefer annoying my enemies by annoying their underlings." 

He snickered. "Or you can paralyze all her guards then play word games with her. That's fun too." 

Morring said, "See, if people learn that it's not a good idea to work for so-and-so, they won't want to work for so-and-so." 

"The way one of Calring's people was plotting revenge against one of your people for some hundred-odd years?" Riven sent Valarian an extremely innocent mental look. Valarian said nothing. 

Morring said, "Hmm. I haven't heard of that one." 

"Never mind. Just chiding my buddy here." He poked at Valarian. Valarian stared at the ceiling. Riven snickered. 

"I see," Morring chuckled softly. 

"You miss all sorts of fun when you're holed up in caves." 

"Oh, believe me, it wasn't exactly by choice." 

"Mmm." Riven took a drowring out of its spot on his belt and displayed it for Morring. "These transform people into standard drow. Curse and all. I'm not sure it would overwrite whatever makes you so damn sensitive, or if that's just how you are, but you might want to try." 

Morring made a soft hmm sound, and took it, examining it over and over before finally putting it on. The changes it made were immediate and quite visible. Her dull white hair takes on a healthy silvery sheen, and her pale red eyes glow the more normal brighter red color. 

Riven smiled at her. "Well, that's working nicely." 

Morring blinked for a moment, clearly not having expected that. 

"I suppose, already being mostly drow, it will work quickly on you." 

Morring took off the ring and hands it back. Riven was impressed by the speed, and put it back in its place. 

"I was transformed with the rest of the drow several hundred years ago." 

"I don't know much of that, I'm afraid." 

"In spite of not even having been fully elven." 

"That's a shame..." 

"Never heard of the Ten Generation Day in this day and age?" 

"In passing," Riven said. "From Hawthorne, once." 

"I was generation ten." 

"I don't know much of it," Riven said. " _Why_ did you do it?" 

"I didn't," Morring replied. "I was just the result of it." 

"Why did _they_ do it?" 

"To produce a large number of powerful mages in a quick period of time." 

"Why'd they need to do that?" 

"War." 

"With?" 

"You see, each child was sent to a different world and there was to seek out the most powerful mage there, and breed with them, and bring back the child fully grown." 

"Why the hell did you go to war, though?" 

"War with the Drakandu. Of course, they hadn't expected many of us to go over to the Drakandu." 

"Them." Those that became Tempest. "You're...?" He searched her mind for any trace of reference to Tempest. 

"I was Drakandu, during such time period as the name was relevant. However, after the Planar Wars began, I had no wish to follow their principles and silly notions of destroying the universe, and offered my castle as protection." 

"That decision just saved your life," Riven said flatly. 

"I was against Tempest as well, you know." 

"Which is good," Riven said. "For you. I don't have any mercy for them. Mind you, I avoided the Planar Wars entirely." 

"Many did," Morring said. "Or avoided it by virtue of being killed early on." 

"And having their souls conveniently held back from rebirth." 

Morring raised an eyebrow. "Who would do that?" 

"Keolah's asshole husband. Hawthorne's, too, and Suzcecoz's." 

"Vakis?" 

"I don't know what happened to him. No, Rhuan. Since banished." 

"Who in the Abyss is Rhuan?" Morring wondered. 

"The top person in the universe who no one would ever dare impersonate." 

"Man," Morring said. "I did miss a lot in that cave." 

"He was a telepath and chronomancer," Riven explained. "You wouldn't have wanted to meet him." 

"Bah, back in my day, the Nexus could time travel as easily as space." 

"I never had that advantage," Riven said. "But I hate messing with Time anyway." 

"The unfortunate thing that happened was that people time travelled without realizing it..." 

"I'm glad the Nexus can no longer do that." 

"For instance," Morring went on. "When me and my sisters went to Khiszalr, we had no idea that we had really gone over a thousand years into the past." 

Riven winced. "I've Time Travelled. Once. Because the person was drunk. It was disorienting." 

Morring laughs aloud at that. 

"To witness Rhuan's banishment, actually." 

"Time travel isn't so bad if you just don't think too hard about paradox." 

"I haven't had much fortune in avoiding thinking about paradox." 

"Paradox is prevented by entropy, most of the time. But it can still give you a headache if you try to think about it." 

"This is why man created alcohol." 

"This is why woman created chocolate." 

"Which has caused more true paradoxes than any we might fear may exist." He snickered. 

"Well, the way I see it, if it wasn't going to happen anyway, it wouldn't have happened, and if it did happen, it would have happened anyway." 

"Yeah," Riven said. "Leaving you with a lot of what-ifs." 

"And every last one of those what-ifs happened too." 

"Let's please not discuss this." 

"Yes. Let's not." Morring rubbed her head. 

Riven chuckled. 

"Anyway, yes, I was born about four hundred years ago, chronologically, although physically I've experienced closer to two thousand years." 

"Two thousand? Damn." 

"Give or take." 

"I'm twenty-six." 

"That's a rough estimate. I've really rather lost track, but that's what it seems to be." 

"Yeah," Riven said. "It's okay. Do you know Silver? Probably right era again, I think all eras are 'right' with him -- he's about three million, by experience." 

"Silver is my great.. err, something, grandfather." 

Riven frowned. "He _was_ with Hawthorne once, wasn't he." Which would explain his involvement in Sedder's death far better. 

"Yes. Keliole Chelseer was the daughter oF Hawthorne and Silver." 

"Ahh." 

Damnit. Riven killed Natalie, and now he's slowly murdering Hawthorne. Poor Silver. At least it was obvious that Silver never loved Hawthorne, but Riven still felt bad. It was sort of an obligatory thing. 

"Yep. Twenty-six. By experience and by most standard reckoning."" 

"But you've been reborn, right?" Morring asked. 

"Yep. At least thrice. Probably more." 

"Yeah," Morring said. "That generally confuses matters a bit more." 

"At least, to my knowledge, it's chronologically good," Riven said. "Not being born as my own parents or something." 

"Yeah, that's annoying." 

"I know someone who just a few weeks ago was reborn as his own kid." Riven glanced at Thorn. 

"Not nearly so bad as Keolah's rebirths. She jumped through time like nobody's business. At least not as any relatives though." 

"No kidding. I think... well... I'm not sure. Nah. I think she was reborn as one of yours, but that remains to be proved." 

"I wouldn't doubt it," Morring said. "If not more." 

"Yeah," Riven said. "All we have to go on is a set of memories from a known past life of hers, and with this person that could mean anything." 

"The worst part," Morring adds, "Is when she was reborn as three people who co-existed in the same time period." 

Riven winced. "Who was the third? Or was this another set _entirely_?" 

"Karelle of Tenlands." 

"Never heard of her," Riven replied. "Pelarin was the second?" 

"Pelarin almost doesn't count since she was technically from the past, but she was still there." 

"What, then were there four? Or does Pelarin count?" 

"I was refering to Pelarin." 

"Alright." 

"But, there were, probably more." 

"Yeah, Keolah messes with Time terribly. And yet turns out alright after it all." 

"I hate fucking Time. Should be bloody outlawed," Riven swore. Morring snickered softly. "Then _changing_ time. That's nasty shit." 

"I don't think changing time is even possible," Morring declared. 

Riven winced. "Damnit. I hate thinking about this stuff. No, it is, just damned hard. Unless people who told me otherwise were deluded, which is possible too." 

"I see." 

Morring changed the subject quickly. "So, what did you do to Hawthorne?" 

"Told you," Riven replied. "Public stoning." 

"Besides that." 

"Seeing as just killing her would be rather anticlimatic." 

"Well, her nerves were completely hypersensitized at the time." 

"Wouldn't that just kill her faster?" 

"What? _Kill?_ Nah." 

"I've discovered a nasty bit of magic to prevent that." 

"Ohhh, I see. I see," Morring said. "You resurrected her repeatedly, right?" 

"Nah," Riven waved his hand. "Too much effort. Just sort of stopped her soul from leaving her body. So she can't die." 

"Ah, I see." 

"You're an actual necromancer," Riven said. "Don't you know those tricks?" 

"As I said, I've been rather out of the loop for a while. And I never much delved into the library of Sheenvale." 

"Yeah. Sheenvale..." 

"I suppose you were _after_ that changer-person, Harmony Kimchild or somewhat?" 

Thorn's ears perked at that. She remembered having ordered the books there brought to Tinemocun. 

"Oh, of course," Morring laughed. "That was ten thousand years ago or more." 

"Mmmph. Fine." 

"So. I wonder if that Changing ring really did decrease your sensitivity to light. Want to test?" She nodded. "If you would please, Valarian." 

Valarian opened his palm and created a faint light and gradually made it brighter. Riven watched. He figured he was more tolerant of it than she would be anyway. At the point it egan to become uncomfortable, she said, "Stop. That's enough." 

Riven smiled at her. "Improved?" 

"Remarkable little thing," Morring mused. It was closer to a normal Mezulbrystian drow's sensitivity now, if slightly less. 

"I agree." 

"You have a beautiful castle," Riven told Morring. "I suppose I can't take it after all." She chuckled softly. Oh well. Maybe he could take the castle in Shieltas still. Nobody seemed to be particularly caring about it at the moment. "If that matriarch Kezerel gives you any more trouble, tell me. I've dealt with her in the past." 

Morring grinned, and nodded. "That I will." 

Riven stood. "It was nice speaking with you." 

Morring stood, and bowed her head slightly to him. "May your magic never falter." 

He smiled at her. "And may yours find its favor, Morring." 

He mentally asked Valarian to bring them back to Ameliel, figuring the door was less than impressive. Valarian did so. Although, it was really kind of a moot point to impress people who could teleport anyway.


	8. Doom Babies

Riven was in his office dealing with reports. He received a telepathic message from Valarian, "Um, I think you may want to come here..."

Riven sighed and stands. "Bring me."

Valarian summoned Riven to his location. He was, apparently, where Hawthorne was being kept.

Riven immediately looked to see just what the problem was. "What in the _Abyss_ , Valarian!"

Hawthorne having been healed was immediately apparant, and also apparent was the fact that she was flying around bouncing off the walls.

Riven attempted to paralyze her. And behind Valarian came the sounds of two infants giggling. He realized abruptly that the source wasn't her. Oh, damn. He groaned. In hindsight, Hawthorne probably wouldn't even be capable of doing that herself, but his only decent attacking power was paralytic, so he'd tried it.

It was apparently Rendalla and Aldria, and they were having a damned good time. Hawthorne screamed and shouted incoherently about "demon babies" and got bounced off the walls, floor, and ceiling.

Riven buried his face in his hand and groaned. "I'll let it continue," he muttered, "just because she doesn't like it."

Valarian snickers softly. The babies seemed to think she was some sort of toy. Riven wouldn't discourage the idea. Particularly with how she squeaked when they knock her against the wall. Finally she ended up laying face-first on the floor, rather winded.

"How juvenille," Riven said, snickering. "And merciless."

He scooped Rendalla up in his arms and says, "Good job, little dear."

"I wouldn't really expect maturity from newborns." Valarian picks up Aldria, who had apparently grown bored of this sport.

"How you doing, Hawthorne?" Riven asked.

Hawthorne just groaned softly. Great. He had a pair of potentially assholic demon-like children. Rendalla looked over at Hawthorne, waved a hand, and healed her.

"Shame they healed you," Riven said. "Must not like the smell of your blood." He couldn't really fault a benevolent child, even if it had no discretion in its blessings.

Hawthorne said, "Oh believe me, I'd rather have been passed out than have been tossed around like a bouncy ball."

"This is Rendalla, by the way, my little baby. Which is, unfortunately, related to you by blood." By, say, hmm... what is it... twelve or thirteen generations down. So diluted enough for me."

Hawthorne, although healed now, made no move to get up. She groaned softly, "Lovely."

"Yep." He was holding his baby lovingly and taunting a woman. This might have seemed incredibly odd to any onlookers.

Hawthorne said dryly, "Great, I've been beaten up by a baby. It doesn't get much worse than this."

"Nope, it doesn't," Riven said brightly. "Maybe I need to cut you up again, since you're all healed. Maybe I need something my little baby can't fix for ya." He patted Aldria on the head.

Aldria giggled. Rendalla wasn't giggling though. She was just looking at Hawthorne.

"I wish I could bottle the feeling of witnessing an enemy being telekinetically tossed about as a baby's toy."

Hawthorne grunted dejectedly. Aldria squirmed free of Valarian's grasp and started hovering in the air.

"Bloody kids. I couldn't channel that young," Riven tepped at Valarian. He didn't seem that angry, though.

Valarian replies, "Neither could I. Remarkable."

Riven carefully juggled Rendalla in his arms, and pulled out his dagger, leaning down to cut Hawthorne prettily across the arm with it before putting it back. Aldria floated over toward Hawthorne and peered down at her. Hawthorne didn't even flinch at the dagger, although she looked at Aldria in pure terror.

Riven couldn't believe she'd laugh at what he did to her the other day, but view a newborn with such fear. Damn. He wondered if it was just humiliation, or if that was going on for a while... Hard to say how long it was before Val knew they were missing and went to look for them.

He checks Hawthorne's mind for indication. Apparently, it had gone on for about an hour before Valarian turned up. "Wow. Who left the kids unattended this long?" he asked Valarian with a touch of annoyance.

Valarian replied, "Theryn's apparently asleep, they both were as well."

Aldria looks at Hawthorne from every angle, even upside down. Riven telekinetically pokes at Aldria to spin her around midair. Aldria giggles.

"Yeah... I guess maybe we should, uhm... post guards, or something?" He snickered. "My gosh. I guess we didn't expect this, did we."

Valarian sent, "It's not exactly typical for newborns to be able to channel, no."

Riven replied, "Pretty odd. Maybe they just sort of picked it up, with a lot of those around being telepaths..."

Valarian thought, "Maybe.. Or maybe they're recent rebirths."

"Go on, Aldria," Riven urged. "It's all-right. You can play with your toy." He tepped to Valarian, "Recent? As in, like, died recently? Would they remember more because of that, or something? I'm not very familiar with the rebirth process..."

Aldria set herself down on the floor in front of Hawthorne, and picked her up and sat her in a sitting position.

Hawthorne groaned, "Great, first I'm a ball, now I'm a doll..."

Valarian replies to Riven, "I don't know."

Aldria made Hawthorne stand up and dance around.

"Yeah. And if you hurt her, not only does it do nothing in the grand scheme of things, with healers present," Riven told Hawthorne, "but I might just squelch your ability to react and you'll be more of a rag-doll."

Riven suddenly recalled what he was told about how Rendally probably 'wouldn't remember anything'. Damn. She was a past somebody.

Hawthorne sighs dejectedly as she spun around and danced.

"C'mon, Hawthorne, have fun. You're an old woman, it's been years since you got to play dolls with your little friends."

Hawthorne just rolls her eyes.

"No, baby," Riven cooed at Rendalla -- his limited Seeking extended to things either very powerful or directly related to his own magic, so he could tell -- "you don't need to heal the dolly."

Rendalla looks at him in confusion.

"Won't work, little baby. Just won't."

Rendalla kept trying all the more fiercely, concentration being a strange look to see on a baby's face.

Riven tickled Rendalla's cheek gently. "Nope, don't need to heal her. C'mon, baby..."

Hawthorne, being held against the wall now, suddenly screamed in pain. Riven glanced at Valarian. Not really being a Seeker, he can't tell who did it, though he didn't disapprove. Rendalla did it, apparently, although didn't realize it and looked at Hawthorne in confusion. Riven was able to pretty easily assume it was dark soul. Which confused him. Rendalla stopped after a moment, frowning intently. His baby tried to use dark soul as part of healing? That's not what he would ever expect...

Hawthorne was reduced to whimpering, "Please get these demon babies away from me..."

"They're having fun, Hawthorne. You appreciate, I'm sure, how hard it is to entertain kids."

Hawthorne got dumped on the floor in a rather physically impossible, and painful, position.

"Seeing as their lives were terribly threatened by what you did last week," Riven said. "I think you owe 'em."

He couldn't understand just why she hated their attentions so much, though she ignored his. Maybe it was because babies, having no sense of threshholds, were completely merciless. Hawthorne had several bones broken and dislocated by Aldria using her as a doll and pulling her about in impossible directions. And Rendalla promptly healed them again after a moment.

Riven wondered if she would have any issues from healing unset broken bones. Thatwas a fear for people with massive regeneration, the whole "let's break your bones to fuck you over" mentality... A good healer would be able to deal with it, but Rendalla was probably just making it worse. Riven thought he can fix it up reasonably eventually. Even if he had to shatter every bone in her body and telekinetically align them before reforming them. Having shattered bones completely seemed familiar to him. Damn. He remembered having done the oddest things.

Rendalla cooed softly, watching Aldria play around.

Riven sat down and settled her on his lap, letting her watch, bouncing her gently. "Big smile, Hawthorne. Aren't you having fun?"'

Aldria got bored of that game and dumped Hawthorne on the ground again and hovered into the air.

Hawthorne said, "I _feel_ like a rag doll now."

"Yes, yes, inexperienced healers jumping on doing that before setting bones does do that. If you prefer to not be bent at terrible angles, I _will_ shatter them for you."

Hawthorne just groans dejectedly again, laying in a pile on the ground.

"Aww, look, she's bored again."

Aldria hovered over to Valarian and curled up in his arms and fell asleep.

"Hawthorne, I'd heal you, but... nah." He grinned at her.

Hawthorne murmured, "Praise the Lights, she's asleep.."

Riven snickered. "I can wake her and you know it. And she'd be cranky, too."

Hawthorne was in plenty enough pain as it was.

"How's the arm?" He checked the soultrap, in case Rendalla's toying did anything to it. It was still in place.

"It hurts like all hell, thank you very much."

"I've never actually left someone with that for more than a few hours before," Riven said. "But, you know, my baby needs to sleep and be fed, then I have to go off and do all sorts of things to clean up after the mess you made last week. So I can't Heal it for at least two days."

Hawthorne just glares at him silently. While Aldria could lift things telekinetically, she could only lift one thing at a time at the moment. Hawthorne continued to lie there, hoping to the Abyss and back that those babies would leave soon.

"Hawthorne. I can hear you, remember? And my baby is a pretty drow, not a demon."

"Yes, of course," Hawthorne muttered.

"I mean it. If you're going to drip anger, do it politely."

Hawthorne sighed in irritation. "I'm not angry, dammit."

"Mmm. Right."

She was too busy being annoyed and scared to be angry at the moment. He tickled at her mind, just to add to her irritation.

"Thank you, Mister Telepath, I didn't realize you were still present," Hawthorne dripped sarcasm.

He snickered. "Fine then. So. Is it common for children of mages to be able to channel so, well, early?"

Hell, He was stunned when he found out Azale could do it when he was six or seven.

Hawthorne said, "Damn straight it's not. Be glad they aren't time mages too, or they'd get bored of being babies and turn themselves into teenagers."

"Yeah. Mmmph," Riven said. "What age is standard for beginning to show signs of it, anyway?"

"Thirteen," Hawthorne said flatly.

"Still annoyed over that?"

"Oh, I'm well beyond annoyance by now."

"Yes," Riven drawled. "Oh. I met Morring the other day. She seemed positively approving of Azale's little feat."

"Bah. Morring hates me."

"Sure does."

Valarian thought that was a fairly common feeling. Riven privately agreed.

"She's doing pretty well." He leans back and considered her as an idea takes him. "You know," he said, "I think we need to parade you through Torn Elkandu wearing nothing but your panties."

Hawthorne sighs softly.

"Or better yet, my underwear."

"Would you really want to scare everyone?"

"I can't switch with you, though, and I have only one pair." First he claimed to not wear any, now he claimed he only has one pair. My gosh. "Did you know there's a tower in Kelletirandia with a drawer _full_ of Keolah's panties?"

"Yes," Hawthorne said dryly. "She used to live there, you know."

"Ooo. I could make you put them on like a hat and dance around." He strokes his chin as if considering the idea.

Hawthorne smirks. "You know, you stroking your chin like that looks rather silly if you have no beard."

"I think you'd be tactful to _not_ mention my human past," Riven said. "Surely a sign that it's intruding on _my_ thoughts is no good sign to _you_."

Hawthorne rolled her eyes and snickers softly.

"No, get this. If two people are sharing a body because of soul or mind or whatever merging difficulties, the one whose name it claims to have is the one that's dominant. Always."

"Frankly, I doubt it would make much difference what I say or don't say, as neither will manage to improve or worsen my situation."

"It is the single most ass-saving bit of knowledge in the universe." Riven said. "You'd be surprised what some asskissers have been able to do to change their situation."

"Sorry, I don't kiss ass."

"Do you suck cock?"

"Occasionally."

"That will suffice."

Hawthorne just sort of smirked at him.

"I really don't want the kids to witness this going on, though." He let her mind get as far as 'whew, he'll take them out' relief before adding, "So I won't call you up on that just yet."

"Damn."

He snickered. "You're not in any condition to do it now, anyway. How's the arm?"'

"Still hurts, thanks."

"Sorry to hear it," Riven said insincerely. "Did you know I found this dagger in close proximity to the mysterious drawer of Keolah's panties? I think exposure gave it nasty powers."

"I think you're a nut."

"I bet if I cut out your tongue with it, no amount of magic would make it grow back."

"Is that a hint?"

"Sure, baby, whatever you want."

"Mmh."

Rendalla seemed to be snoozing lightly. "You know, that cute amplification spell I had seems to have worn off. Seems I'll have to reweave it. Unless you have something to offer to occupy my attention from the task." Riven was threatening this woman rather cruelly while holding his sleeping daughter lovingly.

"How about that feeding your baby like you said you were?"

"She's sleeping," Riven replied. "Oh. If you scream and wake her, well... you've screamed and have awoken her. Poor little Aldria, too. Would hate to make you squeal."

Hawthorne groaned faintly.

He didn't seem to find anything wrong with threatening Hawthorne with his and his friend's children.

Hawthorne briefly considers teaching him about gems, but again before that train of thought got very far, realized he could just take it anyway and the entire point is moot.

"That's very true," he murmured.

Besides that, she didn't think he'd be nearly as good at using them as she is.

He positioned Rendalla in the crook of one arm and takes out the amethyst in his pocket. Just to show her if she hadn't seen before. Even if he couldn't use it effectively, it was... big. He rolled it in his hand. Hawthorne didn't react.

"Also had close proximity to Keolah's panties. It has a side-effect of compelling me to use it in terribly sexual acts as a result."

Hawthorne knew full well that you didn't need to be touching a gem to use its power. And briefly considers trying to take control of the amethyst, but thought better of it.

"Good choice," he murmured.

He slid into her mind rather intrusively and began looking up what she knows about gems. Yes, Hawthorne did know a good deal about gems and their proper useage. And Riven learned it from her rather efficiently.

"Know anything else interesting?" he asked. She actually wasn't a complete dipshit on some topic, and that surprised Riven greatly.

"Let me think about that."

Riven took a very small vial from his pouch and telekinetically floats it to the far corner of the room. "See? I'm thankful. That stuff is the only substance known that will heal the cut on your hand. If you can get to it -- and open it -- well, good on you. I think we should put the kids to bed, Valarian."

Hawthorne tried, and didn't really manage due to her bones being messed up.

Valarian agreed with Riven.

"Eh. You have all night to mosey over. Enjoy, Hawthorne!" Riven went out the door, carefully carrying Rendalla in his arms. Valarian followed. "Oh," he called in to her, "that's all I have of it, so don't break it and waste it." He snickered as he left.


End file.
